Small Changes
by Cat Carroll
Summary: Daemonar and Orian have been best friends since they were in diapers, but now a new Warlord Prince has made Daemonar see his oldest friend in a new light. Some humor, plenty of romance. Rating for light language and some action later in the story.
1. Chapter 1

**Small Changes**

By Cat Carroll

**Disclaimer:** The Black Jewels Series is owned by Anne Bishop. Most of the characters in the story belong to her, but I'm borrowing their future selves for a little while. I'm not getting anything for this except for some emotional satisfaction (read: review, dammit, review!!) and to have something to do while the surgical incisions heal.

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who was shocked to discover I was still alive after I posted my first little one-shot BJT story. To all those from my DA days, I still have the unfinished stories, and I think I'm ready to finish them now. But this story is going to be short by my standards (although I planned it originally to be about five chapters, and it's going to be about double that) and I should have it done relatively soon. After I finish it, and get my creative muscles all stretched, I'll open up those old files and see if my muse still wants to keep shoveling stuff in my head.

Anyways, please read and review. I'm not ashamed to admit that I LOOOOOOOOVE reviews. And I hope everyone likes the liberties I've taken with some canon characters. I've been told that I like the kids of canon characters more than the original characters, and I've found that to be true. I get the rules of the world, but the freedom to give them their own blend of virtues and angst. Alright, enough blathering on. Enjoy the story!

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**Chapter 1**

"Orian!"

The young Eyrien Queen slowed as she heard Daemonar's familiar voice from above. He glided in front of her, back-winged into a back-flip and landed with a flourish. She couldn't help the smile. The only time Daemonar wasn't a show-off was when he was under threat from both his mother and aunt to behave or else. The only time he hadn't behaved, he had ended up with an 800 pound Arcerian cat sitting on him, making sure he stayed still. Some lessons, even Daemonar could get once.

Daemonar had to fight back the urge to demand why Orian was walking, in the snow, by herself. She wasn't even air walking. Granted, it was a light snow, but still, anyone could have followed her tracks. The young Warlord Prince had to hold his tongue and remember advice that his father had given him. When a female was determined to do something that wasn't good for her, be annoying until she gets angry enough at the male to stop and focus her energy on yelling at him. He didn't like to make Orian yell at him, but he could make her laugh, and that was same enough. They had been friends since early childhood and he knew all the tricks to making her smile and laugh.

Orian started walking again, and Daemonar fell in step beside her. She knew that he was gritting his teeth against getting her to fly, but sometimes she needed to touch the land. It was an innate need for all Queens to feel the land beneath them, and as much as she loved to fly, it didn't give her the connection she needed, especially now that she had some big decisions to make.

"Kirian is home," Daemonar said. "She's going to be home through Winsol and my Offering."

Orian smiled. "Did the Court survive her?"

Kirian, Daemonar's younger sister, was a Queen who wore Birthright Green and was expected to wear the Gray after she made the Offering to the Darkness. Askavi was already slated to be ruled by the dark-jeweled witch after she made the Offering in two more years. Most Queens ruled smaller areas and gained experience before moving onto a Province or Territory. However, the first dark-jeweled Eyrien Queen in Kaeleer had immediately been offered Askavi. Not a big surprise considering her family connections. However, the young Queen had been an apprentice in several Territory Courts over the last few years, working on building the skills she would need as a Queen. It had come as a surprise for her to discover that a fist-fight and/or public brawl was actually not how a Queen was supposed to act. She had been working hard on learning how to be a proper Queen, but, well, she was Eyrien, and Lucivar Yaslana's daughter. She had been kicked out of two Courts, and one Queen still had a facial tick every time Kirian's name was mentioned.

Some people had thought Orian would be upset not to be offered Askavi since she was older, and a Queen, but Orian had been relieved. She wore the Rose, and would probably wear Purple-Dusk after she made the Offering to the Darkness. That wasn't nearly strong enough for Askavi, and there was the never-mentioned fact that she wasn't pure Eyrien. She saw it in their faces, especially the ones from Terreille. For Kirian, it didn't matter. The other half of her paternal bloodline was the High Lord of Hell. Everyone could forgive that, even if they didn't want to. But that little bit of curl in Orian's hair said she wasn't completely Eyrien, and never would be. No, Askavi wouldn't accept her like they would Kirian. Orian had received several other offers, all of them more than a light-jeweled Queen should expect, and she would be happier with one of them.

"She's been at Karla's," Daemonar said. He shrugged. "I don't know what happened, but my parents got a letter soon after she got there. Mom looked worried, Dad fell down laughing, and apparently, Kirian's been on her best behavior ever since."

Orian giggled. "Good thing Queen Karla isn't dealing with you."

He snorted. "I've always obeyed Protocol to the letter when visiting another Court."

Now Orian laughed out loud. "You convinced Geoffrey and Draca that the Keep was under attack!"

"Technically, that was Tersa," he reminded her, referring to Daemon and Jaenelle's youngest daughter.

"You talked her into weaving the illusion webs!"

"Well, technically true, but…"

"Before that, you locked the High Lord in his study and announced you had conquered Hell!"

Now he laughed. He had only been a small boy at the time, and his butt had been sore for a day after from a righteous walloping, but he had proudly managed it. Saetan had been in his private study in the Dark Realm when Daemonar had put a shield into the wood itself surrounding the study, and gone into the reception hall. It was Saetan's monthly petition day, and the hall was full of the demon-dead. He announced that Granddad was his prisoner and that he, Daemonar, was now the High Lord. Some of the demons were frightened, others bemused at the eight-year-old's proclamation. All of them had scattered when the High Lord figured out what the boy had done, how to get around it, and had come into the reception hall in a temper to match the situation. Daemonar had spent the next week on the other side of Kaeleer in order to keep him as far from Saetan as possible.

Orian smiled warmly at Daemonar. "You'll do fine in Tersa's Court."

Daemonar frowned. "Tersa's Court?"

Orian looked at him, confused. "You said that there was no way you would let Kirian have any command over you," she said. "The only other Court worth your rank and Jewels is going to be the Dark Court."

"Tersa isn't going to set up her Court for two years," he answered. "And I don't want to serve her. I'm going to serve in your Court."

Orian laughed again, sure he was teasing. Tersa wore Birthright Red, and Jaenelle had said she would wear the Black after she made the Offering. Normally, nobody knew what they would come out of the Offering with, but if Jaenelle said her daughter was going to wear the Black, then the girl was going to wear the Black. Tersa had always been a serious girl, and preparing to wear the Black had intensified that seriousness. She was a natural Black Widow, and had spent most of her life preparing to take on her duties as Queen of Ebon Askavi. Everyone wanted a position in her Court, even if she had made it clear that she was not Witch, her mother was Witch, and Tersa would not tolerate anyone acting like she was dreams made flesh like her mother was.

Orian, Tersa, and Daemonar had been the best of friends since childhood. The Eyriens, being long-lived, matured more slowly than the short-lived raced. Tersa was mixed blood, and although their ages were different, they were at the same maturity rate throughout their lives. Well, some of them were. Daemonar seemed to have a special gift for bringing out the naughty in anyone, and that included his serious, duty-minded cousin. The girls were able to provide a bit of a restraining influence on Daemonar, but sometimes his suggestions just seemed too fun to worry about the consequences.

"My Court?" Orian said with a little tilt to her head, looking at the Sapphire Jewel hanging on a chain against his chest. "Yes, I can see a Gray or Ebon-Gray Warlord Prince serving in some small Village or District Court far out of the way."

Daemonar grabbed her hands and spun her around. "Screw that! We'll sneak over to Terreille, conquer a Territory, and you'll be brilliant and beautiful Queen that everyone loves, and I'll be the rugged and handsome Warlord Prince who uses his strength to save the people, and then they come to love me as much as they adore their Queen."

Orian was getting dizzy. "You've been reading your mother's books again!" Daemonar stopped spinning her and blushed, and she cackled with laughter. "You have!" She gave him big puppy-dog eyes. "Aww…did you have a tissue in hand when you read it? Got awwwwllll sniffwyy?"

"They're very educational," he replied with mock dignity. But the blush was still on his cheeks. "I bet if I looked at your books, I could see the pages that had been read the most."

She gasped and blushed. Her Virgin Night would be in the spring, and she was nervous about the whole thing. She knew what was going to happen, and her mother had been very open and honest discussing sex, but still, Orian couldn't help but wonder what it would actually _be_ like. Plus, she still didn't know who it would be with. She didn't have someone already selected as her Consort, a male she was already emotionally involved with, who would see her through her Virgin Night and become her lover afterwards. So, she was going to need an experienced consort who could see her safely through her Virgin Night and expected nothing more than to aid a young Queen on the most dangerous night of her life. She didn't fancy anyone in particular for the task, and her parents had been helping to sort out the men who would be willing, and find one that Orian would be comfortable with.

Daemonar went to say something else, when his senses caught the feel of another male approaching. He instantly went from a cheerful friend into a protective warrior in a second, stepping in front of Orian, his hand out, ready to call in a weapon in a heartbeat. A few seconds later a male Eyrien dropped out of the sky in front of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Prince Yaslana," the man greeted with an insolent smile. His gold eyes locked onto Orian, and the smile warmed. "Lady Halliver."

Orian stepped out from behind Daemonar. He tried to push back in front of her, but she put her hand firmly on his arm, and gave him a Queen look that no man in his right mind would dare disobey. Daemonar knew he was being rude, but he didn't like the way that this man was looking at his Queen, uh, friend. It didn't matter, she was a Lady, and it was a Warlord Prince's duty to protect and serve.

"Prince Dastol," Orian greeting politely. She looked at Daemonar. "The Prince and I met last summer in Scelt in Morghann's Court." Her look plainly told him that he was being rude. "You know Daemonar?"

"Lorivar, please," Dastol said, "and everyone knows Lucivar Yaslana's boy. Of course, I was very happy to hear that you were back in Askavi."

The warmth of the expression in his eyes made her blush for no outright reason. "I expect to be here for several months at least."

His smiled widened. "Then it seems the Darkness has decided to grant wishes. I had hoped that perhaps I would be able to see you again in Askavi." Her blush deepened.

Daemonar was fighting to stay off of the killing edge. The bastard was flirting with her, and she wasn't telling him to get the hell away from her. His hand ached to call in an Eyrien stick, and show this pile of Hound shit how much of a boy he was. Maybe Orian had missed it, but Daemonar got the subtle insult that Daemonar was a mere boy while Dastol was a man.

"Orian," Daemonar said through gritted teeth, "You're invited to have dinner with us at the Hall tonight to celebrate Kirian's return home. We'll need to get going if you'd like to freshen up before going to the Hall."

She gave Daemonar a sharp look. He had never acted like…like such a male before. Lots of boys had teased and flirted with her in the past. He had never acted so strange. Well, he was a Warlord Prince and a strange male had approached her. Still, Protocol dictated that if the Queen showed she knew the other male, he should behave politely towards him.

Her mouth opened to say something cutting, but Lorivar interrupted. "Dinner at SaDiablo Hall, I would never want to make you late for that. Please, my dear, do not let me make you late, however, I would have one small request before you leave."

"And that is?" Daemonar demanded.

Orian snarled at Daemonar. "Shut up or go back to the eyrie." She gave a tight smile to Lorivar. "My apologies, what is it that you needed?"

"There is a Winsol party in Doun being hosted by Lord Wydell next week. I would ask that you allow me the honor of escorting you there."

Orian's eyes lit up. Lord Wydell's Winsol parties were one of the highlights of the season. The best aristo Blood competed for invitations, and everyone had said that the party was one of the best events of their lives. Orian would never get an invitation on her own, but she had to admit that she had wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

"I would love to go," she said, smiling and ignoring the strange noise Daemonar made.

Lorivar bowed deeply. "Then I shall not detain you a moment longer, Lady. Please enjoy your dinner, and I shall see you soon." He straightened, and gave Daemonar an insolent smile and nod before spreading his wings and heading into the sky.

Orian rounded on Daemonar. "What in the name of Hell is the matter with you?"

"Some strange man shows up, and I'm supposed to be okay with you running off with him."

"I told you I knew him," she snarled.

"I don't!" he yelled back.

"I don't need you to! You're not my father or brother!"

"You're my Queen!"

She let out a frustrated growl. "Get this through your thick head, Daemonar. Nobody is going to let you be in the service of a light-jeweled Queen in a small District. The only reason I've gotten offers to rule more than a village is because of my connections with you and Tersa. We may be friends for the next thousand years, although I'm reconsidering that after seeing how rude you're being now, but there is no way you're going to commit to my Court." With an injured sniff she caught the nearby Tiger Eye Wind and was off for home.

Daemonar allowed himself a few frustrated snarls and growls before catching a Wind himself, but he was heading for the Keep.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"And then she caught a Wind and left!" Daemonar yelled as his grandfather calmly sorted a few books and listened to his grandson. Saetan was also biting the inside of his lip almost hard enough to draw blood in order to keep from laughing. Lucivar had put it best. Young Warlord Princes were a pain in the ass.

They were more of a pain when they didn't understand the real cause of their anger. Saetan had suspected over the last year or so that Orian and Daemonar were slipping beyond the friendship stage. He had seen it happen before, under his careful guidance even, with most of the ruling couples in Kaeleer. Childhood friendships between particular males and females would get to a point, and then change. Sometimes romance bloomed. Other times they lost the closeness as other people came into their lives and became more important. Daemonar and Orian had been coming to this point. Saetan suspected that Daemonar was closer than Orian, but the boy hadn't bothered to do more about it than pull her pigtails, so how would she know that his feelings were changing? More to the point, was Daemonar ready to accept that he didn't see her as just a childhood friend anymore?

"So," Saetan said, "are you angry that she believes you should be in a large, darker Court, or that she's going to a dance with another man?"

"He's a stranger!" Daemonar spat.

That answered Saetan's real question even if the boy didn't know it. "Are you going to the party?" Saetan asked evenly.

Daemonar snorted. "Prissy aristo snobs prancing around, trying to outdo each other? Yeah, that's where I want to be."

"Orian's mentioned the party before," his grandfather reminded him. "Even I've heard her talk about it. Doesn't your family get an invitation?"

"Yeah," Daemonar said. "But he's just trying to suck up to my father since he's the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih. They don't really want him there. They don't really think of him as aristo, and I don't even want to know what they say about Mom."

Saetan tried to look thoughtful. "So, you know Orian wanted to go to the party, you have an invitation, and you're angry because she said yes to another man who asked her to go?"

"But, he's…" Daemonar sputtered.

Saetan cut him off. "A man that you don't know. But she does know him. He's not a stranger to her, and unless you start thinking with the rational part of your brain that I know you got from your mother, Orian is going to be spending a lot more time with him, and you're going to lose your chance to make a claim." Saetan paused. He had made that exact speech to either Khary or Chaosti. Funny, with the boyos, the names changed, but situations didn't. It made it easier to refine lectures over the years.

Daemonar glared at him. "Staking a claim is done when…we're friends."

Saetan turned and faced his grandson full on. "Boyo, I've got over 50,000 years of experience dealing with young Warlord Princes. And I'm telling you that you've already started making your claim. But if you don't make it obvious to her, then you don't get to have any say when another man courts her."

Daemonar fell into one of the chairs that were designed for Eyriens. He folded his arms, and for a moment looked like a pouting boy. But there was the man under the boy that was swimming up to the surface. Everything in life had come relatively easy. He had a family that adored him. Except for a couple of days that he couldn't really remember, he had never gone hungry, or been abused. He had been trained to be a warrior by the best Eyrien warriors in all the Realms, and tutored in Craft and Protocol by two Black Jeweled Warlord Princes. For the first time, there was something that wasn't coming easily, and he either had to stand his ground and be willing to enter an uncertain battlefield, or decide that there was nothing worth battling for anyway.

"I was thinking about getting her a nice Winsol gift," Daemonar finally said softly. They had always exchanged Winsol gifts, but usually their gifts to each other were funny or a prank. This time, he wanted something special.

"Hell's fire, boy, now you're finally thinking right!" Saetan smiled at his grandson. "And I know just who you need to talk to."

A few hours later Daemonar knocked on the door of his uncle's study. The door swung open quietly and he walked in. Daemon glanced up from behind a desk full of paperwork, looked down, and then jerked up sharply.

"You're alone," he said flatly. "Sweet Darkness, you didn't burn down another village, did you!"

"Uncle Daemon…" Daemonar began.

"Boy, what did you talk Tersa into doing this time?" The room actually was taking on a slight chill.

"I just need advice!" Daemonar said quickly and then swore under his breath. It was a small warehouse, a stable and a tavern, and nobody had been hurt, including the horses, not a whole village that had been burned down. One would think that Uncle Daemon of all people would be more forgiving over one little fire. At least Daemonar's fire was an accident.

Daemon eyed his nephew cautiously. He dropped to the Ebon-Gray and sent a psychic communication to his brother. *Prick, why is your son asking my advice? Did you give him the "don't slobber or chew on her face" rule?*

*Years ago. What has the little beast done now?*

*I don't know*

A mental sigh. *Let me know what the damages are and I'll kick his ass later.*

Daemon cut off the communication. "What did you do?" he asked too softly.

"I…I want to get Orian a nice Winsol gift," he muttered. It was easier to admit that he had burned down those buildings. Or that he had been the one to convince three villages there was a plague and the laxative he had was actually a cure. "Granddad said you knew best about what Ladies like."

Daemon sat down heavily. He had known that he would probably be the one to give his nephew a sex primer. But he had been hoping for a little advance warning, and not an hour before a family dinner at the Hall. He did not want to have to explain certain details and then hope that Marian didn't ask why her son had come to the Hall early. Maybe Surreal would take over on this one. She had helped a few times with some of the other sons of the Jaenelle's First Circle, giving them some experience in the bed before they became lovers or consorts to a particular Lady.

"Granddad suggested jewelry," Daemonar continued, oblivious to his uncle's internal suffering. "He said that you could help me pick something out."

Daemon smiled. "What are you thinking about?"

Daemonar shrugged. "I…something…I don't know. Something…grown up." A dark look slid over his face. "Something Prince Ass-Face won't think to give her," he muttered more to himself than for his uncle to hear.

It took all of Daemon's 1,700 years of developing a court mask to keep from bursting into laughter. So, a rival had surfaced, and forced Daemonar to look at Orian a little differently. "What happened?" he asked, the question a silky command.

Daemonar felt silly at telling the story a second time, and now he could see how he had acted badly, being insulting to Orian when he didn't mean to be. But then, he was talking to Uncle Daemon, who was also known as The Sadist. He had seen the way women looked at him, heard them whispering together how much they wanted him and would do anything for an hour in his bed. Daemonar had even felt the leashed seduction that flowed off of his uncle before when he had danced with Jaenelle. If his uncle would let that seduction go, even part-way, then he could have almost any woman in the Realm at his feet.

If there was anyone who could give advice, it was Daemon. Daemonar smiled, instinctively knowing that his uncle would have a strategy in seconds, one that would probably be risky, but possible if one was willing to face the challenge.

And he was one Eyrien that had never backed away from a challenge yet.

"I met up with Orian today outside of Riada," Daemonar began.

Daemon settled in his seat behind the great blackwood desk, listening to his nephew, and planning a gentle, but Eyrien seduction.


	4. Chapter 4

Dorian knew something was wrong the moment Orian stormed into the eyrie. Her daughter was even-tempered usually, a blessing when a witch had three Eyrien sons, but when something sparked her temper, well, she was a Queen, and a Queen naturally had a hot temper. Orian stomped into the eyrie, kicked her brother when he made a teasing comment, yelled at one of the wolves, and slammed her bedroom door shut. Dorian waited ten minutes, and then knocked on the door.

The door flew open, Orian's eyes spitting lightning at whoever was there. It wasn't a brother, so she couldn't slam the door shut again, with another kick for good measure. Dorian entered the room, and closed the door behind her. A second later, Darkguide, a young Arcerian Healer passed through the door. There wasn't a lot of room with the 300 pound cat and two winged females, but nobody was offering to leave.

*Bad wolf? Do I need to bite him?*

"No biting," Dorian said firmly. She had known there would be problems with the cat moving into an eyrie that had been dominated by wolves, but when the cat was a Birthright Opal wearing Arcerian who had decided that the household's young Queen was "hers" after a visit to a Witch, then accommodations needed to be made.

Dorian looked at her daughter. The girl was in her closet, and had pulled out most of her good dresses and thrown them on the bed. "Did someone say something about your wardrobe?" she asked hesitantly. A young Eyrien, on the edge of maturity, was a bundle of hormonal temper at the best of times and simply impossible the rest of the time.

"No," Orian said, and then threw herself on her bed. "I got invited to a Winsol party," she snapped.

Dorian blinked. "Sweetheart, if you want a new dress…"

"This isn't about a dress!" Orian cried out. "Stupid Daemonar had to act like Lorivar was trying to kill me, and now Lorivar probably is trying to get out of inviting me because he doesn't want Prince Yaslana mad at him, and I want to go, and Lorivar was very nice when we met, and was being so polite and charming, even though Daemonar was behaving like a sewer-rat, and Daemonar keeps teasing me about being in my Court, and we all know that won't happen, and I'm tired of people acting like I wouldn't have any offers at all if it wasn't for being friends with Tersa and Daemonar, and every time he says he's going to be in my Court that's what people think even more, but he won't listen to ANYTHING!" She harrumphed. "Stupid Daemonar."

Dorian was glad that she was the oldest of four sisters, or she would never have been able to understand a word of that speech.

*Bite Daemonar?*

"Yes!" Orian snapped, at the same moment as her mother yelled "NO!"

Dorian looked at the cat and then her daughter. "No wonder you two get along," she said. "Both of you want to bite first, and think later." Darkguide let out a little growl, but would never risk biting the little Queen's dam. Dorian turned her attention back to her daughter.

"Let's start over, and tell me what happened from the time you left Riada, all happy about doing Winsol shopping, to coming in here in such a mood."

Orian sighed, and told her mother what had happened on the way home. "I don't know why he was so upset over one party," she said at the end, honestly confused. "He hates aristo parties. It's not like I'm going to refuse to go to the one at The Tavern, or the cookie party Lady Marian is planning, just because I want to go to one aristo party. He's just using Lorivar as an excuse, because Daemonar was there when Papa mentioned him when we were talking about my trip to Scelt."

Dorian smiled. Her daughter was almost grown, almost ready to take on the duties of a Queen, but there were some things she didn't quite see. Like why a young man would be intimidated by the arrival of an older, handsome, sophisticated man like Prince Lorivar Dastol. "Maybe it's not going to a party, but going to a party with another man that upset Daemonar," she suggested gently.

Orian blew out an annoyed breath. "I've been to lots of parties with lots of boys."

Dorian had a smile, knowing smile. "Exactly. This is the first time a man has asked to be your escort for the evening. Sometimes, men tend to think of women one way, and it can be the littlest thing that suddenly makes them see the Lady differently."

Orian thought that over for a moment and then shook her head. "Daemonar doesn't think of me like that. If he did…well, I'd know, right?"

Dorian almost laughed. No, she wouldn't. Who likes who had been part of the male/female struggle since the beginning of time, and she doubted anyone would ever come up with a solution. "Like I said, sweetheart, sometimes things change. You need to think about it, and decide if things did change, could they change on both sides?"

"I'm still going to the party with Lorivar," Orian said, almost defiantly.

"As you should," Dorian agreed tartly. "One party isn't promising the Consort's ring. And if Daemonar starts behaving like a gentleman, maybe you'll allow him to escort you to one of the other dozen parties this season."

"Stupid Daemonar," Orian grumped. "Maybe I won't go with him even if does ask."

Dorian looked at her seriously. "If he decides that he wants to court you, then you need to decide right away if you will allow it," she said. "Daemonar has always been a sweet young man, but under that fun-loving exterior is a Warlord Prince and a Warlord Prince will always revert back to their nature. Its part of what they are, and they can't help it any more than the seasons can help from changing."

Orian understood the seriousness of her mother's words. A Warlord Prince was violently passionate, and focused with a single-minded deadliness on his Lady. Many men had died from inadvertently coming in between a Warlord Prince and the woman he was focused on. That's why Protocol was so strict in this area. Daemonar had been taught Protocol by the High Lord himself, and would yield to Orian's wishes about courting. If Daemonar said that he wanted to stake a claim, she would have to allow him to court her exclusively until she accepted him or asked him to step aside. If she didn't want him to court her at all, she would have to tell him immediately, and firmly. If not, a lot of people could be hurt or killed.

"We've been friends since we were in diapers," Orian said. "I'm a friend, that's all."

"But if he gives any indication at all that he's staking a claim…"

"I'll follow Protocol to the letter," Orian promised.

Dorian was relieved. Life was good in Kaeleer, and so many of the terrors they had faced in Terreille had faded over the years, but a Warlord Prince in a rage could happen anywhere. Bad things, horrifying things could happen when a Warlord Prince went cold. She had been courted by a Warlord Prince once, but after watching him tear another man limb from limb in a rage because he discovered her mother was only half-Eyrien, she had broken off the relationship and run away to another village, refusing to socialize with any male above a Warlord. Luckily she had met Endar, and their marriage had been a happy, loving one, blessed with three beautiful children. But Dorian never forgot the lessons of her youth, and although she had been happy her daughter had such a good friend in Daemonar, she had always held a note of concern over what would happen when his primal nature began to surface.

"Now, shall we discuss a dress for the party?" Dorian asked, wanting to cheer her daughter. "I think you're definitely going to need something special."

Orian smiled. "I think you read my mind."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Daemonar called in the black velvet box with Orian's gift in it, and smiled at the bracelet lying inside. Going jewelry shopping with Uncle Daemon had been an educational experience. Daemonar had never guessed at the thought process that went into it. Daemon had explained that buying a trinket was easy; it just had to be something that went well with the Lady's style, and was a male's way of saying he was thinking of her. But buying a special piece of jewelry took finesse.

Daemon had taken his nephew to Banard, the only man that Daemon bought special jewelry from. Daemonar had gone to the earring display, deciding immediately to get Orian a pretty set of earrings. He had tried to get his uncle to come over when a phantom hand had smacked Daemonar in the back of the head, and then dragged him by the trousers over to the display counter.

"Earrings and broaches are showing your claim to a Lady," Daemon had explained. "She wears it, and other people see it. They tell her how fabulous the piece looks, and makes her feel good for accepting it. But she'll only think about you when she puts it on, and when someone else compliments her."

Daemon pointed to the display case. "What you need to get her is a bracelet. You want to get an everyday bracelet, not a lot of flash because you want her to wear it often."

"A bracelet? Isn't that kind of kiddy?" Daemonar complained.

Daemon held out his hands. "How often in a day do you see your hands?"

Daemonar shrugged. "I don't know. A lot?"

His uncle smiled. "Exactly. And every time she looks down at her hands, she's going to see the bracelet, and think of you."

Daemonar's eyes widened in appreciation for his uncle's tactics. The point of special jewelry wasn't to get a moment of surprise and gratitude from the Lady, but to have it as a constant reminder of the male who had given it to her. A male's constant presence would be annoying, but a piece of jewelry, the proper kind, would be a sweet reminder, something that would work its way into her mind in a good way. After Daemonar realized what his uncle was teaching him, he didn't argue again, and let Daemon guide his choice until he had selected a lovely bracelet that fit the criteria. It was a gold bangle with an intricate, but simple filigree on top, with a perfect black pearl in the center of the filigree. Four small diamonds were worked into the design so that they sparkled around the pearl, adding to its luster without overpowering it. It was gorgeous, but not so ornate that she would put it in her jewel box and only wear it on special occasions.

Daemonar vanished the box and checked his clothing. He was glad that his formal set of clothes had recently been updated. They were meant for the party that was being planned for after he made the Offering, but his mother had been okay with him wearing them to this particular Winsol party. Orian hadn't seen him in them yet, and he had to admit, despite hating the tight collar, he looked pretty good.

He had spent the every evening with Uncle Daemon, getting lessons on how to "deal" with women at the party. It had probably been for the best that Daemon had insisted on the lessons. Daemonar had planned to go to the party, get Orian alone, and tell her that he thought he was starting to like her more than friends, and lay a claim right there, giving her the bracelet. The back of his head was still slightly bruised from the smack Uncle Daemon had given him after hearing Daemonar's plan. Instead, Daemon explained that he would have to go slow, and allow Orian to take the bait, making the choice hers, and not making her feel forced. Backing a witch into a corner was not the way to make her open to a seduction.

So, Daemonar learned to dance passably well. He had learned a little for Winsol dances in the past, but now Uncle Daemon had showed him how to use the dance to act as a prelude to the bedroom, being intimate while still in the open. It would be enough to seduce a little witch without making her feel trapped. She's going to be with another man at the party, Daemon had explained. Honor will dictate she spend her time with him. You're going to get a look, a dance, maybe, just maybe, one moment of privacy, and that's it. Daemonar was going to have to resist the Eyrien urge to throw Orian over his shoulder and fly her off to a remote area so that no other man could claim her. More importantly, he was going to have to fight the territorial instincts of a Warlord Prince. He had no official claim to Orian, and by Protocol, could not demand she refuse all other courting offers but his.

For one night, he could do it. It was a new kind of battlefield, but no Eyrien warrior backed away from a battlefield just because it wasn't a normal one.

He was ready to leave when Marian entered the room, holding a spelled crystal that Jaenelle had come up with. It would capture and hold an image that could be seen within the crystal. Daemonar groaned when he saw it, but he knew better than to argue with his mother. She was a quiet, calm woman, but there was solid steel in her spine when it came to what she wanted. So he stayed there for her fussing and a few images were preserved of him looking like a proper gentleman.

Marian ran one hand lovingly down his wing. "You've become a very handsome young man," she said. "I think the Ladies are going to flock to you like they do your uncle."

That made Daemonar proud and worried. He had gotten his instructions from his uncle, and they were very clear. "Mom…"

There was a twinkle in her eye. "I know why you're going, and your father and I both approve wholeheartedly. Unofficially, but I'm glad to see that you aren't going to have to endure centuries of loneliness."

He understood why she had said unofficially. His father had made it very clear that Daemonar was allowed to court girls, escort them to places, and even have a kiss and a cuddle, but when it came to a romp, both of them would have to formally ask permission from the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih and declare their intentions, or both would get the shit kicked out of them. Daemonar hadn't liked the rule, but obeyed it because this was one thing that would get the shit kicked out of him. For a young male wanting to enter a court, reputation was everything, and it could take decades to clean a reputation for being a slut that dropped his pants for every woman that asked.

"Thank you," Daemonar said, and kissed his mother's cheek. "I promise tonight to be on my best behavior, and follow Protocol."

"That's all a mother can ask," she replied with a smile, fighting back the urge to tousle his carefully brushed hair. He had adopted his father's style of wearing it shoulder length, but tonight had it tied back with a leather tie that matched his shoes. For a moment, she saw the man he was becoming under the boyish exterior, and it broke her heart a little. She wanted all of her children to gather their wings and fly, but that didn't mean it wasn't a little heartbreaking when one was ready to really leave.

Daemonar gave his mother a smile and a wink and then headed out the door where his father was waiting with a coach that he had borrowed from the Hall. Daemonar looked confused. "Strict orders from your uncle," his father said dryly. "Apparently, young men coming to court don't just catch a wind and fly down. They take a coach in case a Lady asks them to escort her home."

Daemonar bared his teeth and growled. "I'm not escorting anyone home."

Lucivar gave him his lazy, arrogant smile. "Then you go tell your uncle that you're refusing it."

It was one thing to step into a battlefield. It was another for your father to drop you into it, naked, and with no weapons.

Lucivar cheered. This was making up for so much that the boy had done. The rain of frogs in Riada and maybe the time the wolves wanted more human smells so the boy had put up a toll booth on the main road to Doun and everyone had to pay two marks or get sniffed by a wolf. "You never know if Orian will want a ride home," Lucivar finally said, soothing his son's temper.

"She'll have to accept an offer from her escort first," Daemonar grumped.

"Haven't you learned yet to always be prepared?" That wasn't his father speaking, but the man who had trained him to be a warrior.

"I understand, sir." Daemonar said with a little smile. "Hell's fire, the coach might be fun."

Lucivar's smile froze as his son got into the coach and steered it away from the eyrie towards the Wind landing spot. He hadn't thought of the things Daemonar could do with a coach. A catalog of Daemonar's past exploits flitted through his mind, and he shuddered. Oh well. Daemon knew the risks of giving the little beast a coach to play with, and he could be the one to clean up the mess later.

Lucivar went inside where Marian was holding an old picture, their first family portrait. Daemonar was still an infant at the time, and everyone thought he was the most adorable little baby. That was before he got his feet under him and discovered how fun it was to take a piss off a chandelier. His smile faded a little when she looked up at him with a familiar look. It had been a long time since he'd seen it, but it wasn't something he could forget.

"Oh, no," Lucivar said. "We've got two heading out the door, and the other one will follow in a few more years."

Marian's smile brightened. "That's what makes the timing so perfect."

Lucivar wanted to say something else, but Marian had that glint in her eye, and he knew nothing he said was going to get through. The girls hadn't been hard at all. Well, not bad as far as Eyriens went. There were a few Courts that didn't understand what they were getting into when Kirian had been invited there, but nothing she had done was out of maliciousness, just a lack of understanding between cultures. Lucivar didn't think he'd mind another daughter, but risking another little beast like Daemonar was still too frightening, even for him.

Instead Lucivar gave Marian a long, thorough kiss. "Daemonar's gone, Kirian is at the Hall, and Tillian is in Amdarh with Surreal. Maybe we can negotiate."

Marian melted into her husband. She didn't mind these negotiations. After all, she had won them three times in the past. Instead of talking, she kissed her husband back as he scooped her up and took her to their bedroom.


	6. Chapter 6

Orian felt like a true Queen for the first time as she swept into the grand ballroom on Lorivar's arm. People were looking at her, and not in a "what is she doing here" way, but more like a "must find out more about her" way. They had been formally announced as they entered, and she couldn't help but bask in the festive and romantic atmosphere of the party. Waiters bearing trays of sparkling wine and finger foods wove around the crowd unobtrusively. Musicians were on a small stand on the side of the dance floor, playing a variety of styles so that everyone would be able to dance at least once.

It didn't take her long to realize that she was the only Queen there. There were several Warlord Princes, and many dark-Jeweled witches, but none were as high of a caste as she. She smiled a little at the thought. She spent so much time with dark-Jeweled, high caste Blood that she thought of herself as being lacking in some ways. But now, even with a lighter Jewel, she was still ranking among all of the Ladies there. It gave her an extra boost of confidence as she moved among the crowd, chatting with various people.

It didn't hurt that she felt especially lovely in her new gown, with her hair carefully arranged, and enough makeup to artfully highlight her best features. The black velvet gown allowed her to tuck her wings in close so that they all but disappeared. There were some people that were still uncomfortable around Eyriens, and not making a display of the wings seemed to put them more at ease. The gown was shot through with gold lace trim and gold thread, which accented her sun-kissed skin and golden eyes. It was the prettiest dress she had ever owned. Her family wasn't rich, but even the wealthy aristo women complimented her on how lovely she looked.

She was just glad it wasn't covered in white fur. Darkguide had wanted to come with her as a chaperone. Over the years, more people had become comfortable with the kindred, especially in the places that stood in the shadow of the Keep. The cat didn't understand why her Queen had to leave with the male and spend time with other humans. Didn't Orian have enough humans to live and hunt and play with?

Before the party, while she was getting ready, Orian tried to explain the purpose of events. It was like trying to explain to a child who wasn't ready to like boys yet. Fitting, because Darkguide's voice was still that of a girl.

*You know that humans celebrate Winsol with other humans.*

*If you want to dance for Witch, go to the Hall and dance for the Lady.*

Orian sighed. Winsol celebrated Witch, who was Jaenelle, the living myth and dreams made flesh. It would seem odd to the kindred to dance and celebrate the glory of Witch when she was at the Hall whenever someone wanted to see her.

*You know how long it took for the dreams to become flesh. This became human tradition while the dream was forming.* She hesitated. *Humans use these parties as part of…our mating rituals.*

The cat snorted, letting Orian know what _she_ thought of human mating rituals. They were long, silly and overly complicated. One found a mate that was strong enough to protect the den, able enough to provide meat, and in the case of kindred, trustworthy enough to be allowed near a kitten.

Orian scratched the cat behind her furry ears, making Darkguide purr. *I know it seems silly to you, but it's what we do. We want our potential mates to be in different situations, so we will know how they will act.*

*You know Daemonar. Mate with him. He is strong and will provide for you and your kittens.*

Orian's smile faded. *He didn't ask.*

*Males must start all human mating rituals?*

*Not always, but a Warlord Prince is rarely shy about him intentions.*

The big cat growled. *I will bite him for his foolishness.*

That made Orian laugh. She hugged Darkguide, glad that she had brushed the cat thoroughly the day before or else she would be covered in white fur. *No, don't bite him. Sometimes things are complicated. And I want to go to the dance with Prince Lorivar.*

Darkguide still didn't like it and hadn't been at the eyrie when Lorivar came in a Craft-powered coach to pick her up. Orian strongly suspected that the Arcerian somewhere in the upper floor, heavily shielded, and watching her carefully. The male cats wouldn't like the witch taking a protective stance without contacting them, but Darkguide was annoyingly stubborn, even for kindred. She didn't care if she was considered a half-grown kitten by the other Arcerian cats. Orian had to admit, it was a comforting thought to know that if anything did happen, there would be someone she knew to watch her back.

But the party was in full swing and nothing bad at all had happened. She had danced several times with Lorivar, and once with their host. A young Warlord had approached her for a dance, but Lorivar had cut him off and taken her into a quick and lively court dance. The other men in the room had gotten the message. Other Ladies had whispered to Orian how handsome and charming her escort was; where had she been hiding him?

It was fun being around non-Eyriens for a change. She didn't pick up the slightest bit of sneer when a Lady asked her how she had managed to get just that little bit of curl in her hair to frame her face so prettily. When Eyrien women asked about her hair, most of the time, she felt the verbal slap as they reminded her that she wasn't a pureblood. She would always be "less" in their eyes. Kirian could get away with in because of the power of her other bloodline, but so many thought that Orian's other blood must be pathetically low since she was trying to hide it.

In truth, she didn't care about her mother's other bloodline. As long as she had wings, she was happy. It wasn't anyone else's business. But they did care. All of her offers were either large villages or small Districts in Askavi. Maybe, just maybe, Askavi wasn't the place she should be if so many Eyriens had a problem with the curl in her hair, and the people that surrounded her now didn't give a damn.

Orian was shaken out of her thoughts by the sound of the trumpets. Most guests were simply announced, but special ones had been given extra fanfare. The butler was at the head of the stairs.

"Announcing Prince Daemonar Yaslana of Ebon Rih." His voice, Craft-enhanced, carried across the ballroom. The man knew when to make sure his employer knew that an important, and very rare, guest had just walked in. Ebon Rih wasn't the biggest or most important place of all the people gathered here, but it was more who the young man represented than himself or where he was from that was important.

Orian wasn't the only woman who swung around to look at the stairs when the announcement was made. But she was probably the only one that nearly dropped her glass when Daemonar came into view. He…he looked civilized. More than civilized. Amazing was a better word for it. He gave the crowd a lazy, arrogant smile and then descended down the stairs. Orian could feel the heat of a dozen women rise around her, and knew that at least half of them were already making plans to have him in their bed tonight. A flash of anger ran through her at the thought. Bitches. None of them were half good enough for him.

Orian quickly damped down her anger. She was here with an escort, and Daemonar had every right to spend time with any Lady here of his choosing. Even if they were a bunch of gold-digging, social climbing bitches.

Daemonar scanned the crowd as he entered the ballroom, looking for Orian. His eyes passed over her the first time, and then jerked back quickly. He had seen her dressed up before, but never dressed up like this. She was stunningly beautiful in the dark gown with gold accenting all of her wonderful features. He had to remind himself what Uncle Daemon would do to him to push down the urge to sweep her up and haul her away from all of the males that were daring to look at her.

He was rising up towards the killing edge, and he knew it. He took a deep breath, trying to force himself away. Nobody here was going to die tonight by his hand. He could not allow things to get out of hand. But oh, when that other Warlord Prince stepped close to Orian, Daemonar wanted to call in his war blade and let it sing.

He had to restrain himself when Lord Wydell, host of the party, came up to him, personally welcoming Daemonar. The man was skilled at being very flattering without crossing the line into being obsequious. Daemonar heard about half of what his host was saying, remembering to give a smile or mutter something in return every few seconds as they made their way across the room to where Orian stood. He smiled for real, amused and thrilled at the way she was looking at him. It was like she had never seen him before, but in a way, she hadn't. Not like this. Childhood was gone, and this was the grown-up Orian and Daemonar seeing each other for the first time.

He took Orian's hand and brushed her knuckles against his lips the way Uncle Daemon had shown him. Well, made him practice about a thousand times until it was considered passable. From the way her breath caught in her throat, he must have gotten it right.

"Orian," he greeted, his voice low.

There was the slightest tremble in her hand, but her voice was steady. "Daemonar," she said. "I'm very surprised to see you here."

"I have it on good authority that this is the party of the season to attend."

There was a little twinkle in his eye that reminded her of all of the silly, fun adventures they had gone on during other Winsol parties. Some were never discovered, others ended with a walloping and/or extra chores for a month. It was usually worth. She leaned forward so that he was the only one that could hear her.

"Did you bring live frogs for the punch bowl, or just illusions?"

Daemonar's response was a warm, rich laughed that rolled through the room, making women sigh and men start angrily looking for their new rival. Daemonar didn't give a damn. The only rival he was concerned about had come back to Orian with two flutes of the champagne punch in hand. Lorivar handed Orian her glass in a way so that she had to drop Daemonar's hand in order to take the glass.

"Young Prince Yaslana," he greeted with a tight smile. "So good to see you again." He looked down at Orian. "My darling, I must take you over to meet Lady Ryder and her family. He glanced at the other men as his arm snaked around Orian's shoulders. "If you'll excuse us gentlemen," he said as he led her over to another group of people, high aristos from Little Terreille.

It was just short of rude, but Daemonar didn't care. Dastol had just acknowledged that Daemonar was a rival of note and wanted to get the object of his affection away from said rival. Daemonar was smiling, and to some it looked friendly and inviting. To anyone that knew Lucivar, they would have run screaming from the ballroom.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry for the delay. The computer was down for almost a month, and I couldn't get to the story. But the computer is back up and running, so let's get back to Daemonar and Orian…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The party had been all Orian could have hoped for, and even more. She had met so many wonderful people there, aristos that she would rarely socialize with in her daily life. None of them had looked down on her even though she wasn't of aristo blood. Her caste trumped that little problem, and most of the people she met seemed genuinely friendly and nice. She had received half a dozen invitations to various events around Kaeleer over the next few months. Lorivar had offered to escort her to all of them, but she had not accepted his offer. As much fun as she had with him that evening, she had to admit it was the image of Daemonar coming down the stairs that she couldn't get out of her mind.

He had been so handsome and charming. Odd for Daemonar. Well, he was always handsome, but he was making an effort tonight to be charming to her, and she had to admit, it had worked in some ways. Oh, not enough to make her forget the boy that she had fought many mud wars with, but enough to make her wonder about the man he was now.

She had spent most of her time with Lorivar, as proper for a Queen with her evening's escort. He had been courteous and charming, a lively dancer, and made introductions to so many people in society that she had vaguely known of, but never met. Some she had known in passing from her time training in the courts, like Karla's Steward and his wife, and Kalush's Court Healer, but this was the first time she had actually socialized with them. Orian had realized how much she had limited herself to Eyrien society, and honestly, she preferred the people at the party to most of the Eyrien parties that she had attended, especially those with Eyrien aristos.

Except for one particular aristo Eyrien. Daemonar had been in the corner of her eye, practically the whole time that she was there. He had danced with a dozen ladies, and chatted with a dozen or more of the male guests. She did her best to pay attention to her escort and the other guests, but even when she couldn't see him, she could feel his presence.

And then Lorivar had excused himself for a moment, and then there was a pause in the conversation she was having, and suddenly Daemonar was standing in front of her, with his left hand offered. The first strains of a waltz were beginning to play. He smiled at her, his gold eyes twinkling. "May I have this dance?"

So she had placed her hand on his so he could properly escort her to the floor. His use of Protocol in taking the subservient position, despite his darker jewel and aristo family, showed everyone in the room that she was a Queen deserving of respect…unless you wanted to answer to a certain young Warlord Prince, who, despite his age, already had a reputation for being the best warrior to come out of Askavi since Lucivar Yaslana. Orian was amused when it hit her later that his gesture had done more for her reputation than all of Lorivar's introductions combined.

When they reached the dance floor, Daemonar had turned her to face him and then took her into the dance. In a waltz, there is a frame that allows personal space between the dancers, or a more technically correct one that has the dancers touching almost from thighs to chest. Orian wasn't surprised at all when Daemonar stepped in close to her, feeling the heat of his body running all the way up hers as they started the steps of the dance. The close frame ensured that he was easily able to lead the dance, even though she knew for a fact that he wasn't skilled at dancing. She had to bite back a smile. Someone had taken some lessons and been practicing in secret.

"Are you having a good time?" she asked.

A low heat flared in his eyes. "I am now."

She blushed. That wasn't what she had meant at all. "Were you so worried about me that you had to come to a party you hated?" She had meant it as a joke, trying to steer them back into a lighter territory. This Daemonar was new to her. This was the Warlord Prince, struggling against his own nature to claim a Queen, and she knew it. No serious discussions tonight. If he staked a claim, then the night could end in a bloodbath. It was part of a Queen's training on how to handle a Warlord Prince, and she thanked the Darkness for every lesson she had learned.

"I am glad to see you," she said

"Really?"

"Everyone has been really nice," she said. "But it's always good to know someone at a party. But I've really enjoyed meeting so many different people. I think it's good for a Queen of even a small village to have exposure to the rest of the realm." She could see the instincts to protect and serve warring. She was letting him know that she needed to be there as a duty to the village or district she would rule. He needed to support her in this, as would any Warlord Prince in her service.

"Yes," he finally said. "You're going to have to deal with different courts. It's good to meet those people on a social level." A smile slid across his features, and he was more the Daemonar that she had always known. "As long as you don't forget where you come from."

Her return smile was more natural they broke apart to do a turn, a spin, and then come back together. "No, you never forget where you come from," she said softly.

"In that case," he said, "would you allow me to escort you to the Winsol party at The Tavern?" He already knew she was coming, Hell's Fire, her family went every year to The Tavern's party, but he wanted to not just hang out with her at the party, but be her official escort. Daemonar's eyes darkened. "Unless you already have an escort."

"No, I didn't," she said, deciding not to tell him of Lorivar's offer to take her to any party of her choosing. "But, yes, I would like for you to be my escort for the evening." The words were formal, but for a Warlord Prince trying to be good, it was better to stay formal and focus on the official Protocol for accepting.

The dance ended and he escorted her off the dance floor. It was their only dance of the evening. She didn't know that was part of his instructions from Daemon. But it worked. She was intrigued on why he had not talked to her again, giving the whole encounter a mysterious, sensual feel that she was reflecting on, even now, in Lorivar's coach as he drove them back to her home.

"You seemed to have a good time," he said, breaking her into the here and now.

She smiled. "Oh, I did. Thank you for inviting me."

He smiled, his gold eyes very warm. "My darling, it was my pleasure, believe me." He hesitated a moment. "Did you enjoy the company?"

_Daemonar_, she thought, trying to decide how best to answer the question. "Everyone was very nice," she responded. "I knew a few people from my training in other Courts, but it was lovely to see them on a social level."

"I'm glad you liked them," he replied. He took her hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles. "I am afraid that I must confess that I had an ulterior motive to tonight."

"Oh?" Her voice was perfectly neutral.

"I wanted to know if you would like people beyond Askavi. There are many Eyriens that cannot stand to be with others not of their own race."

She laughed. "My best friends are of mixed races. I've played with kindred since I was a baby. Plus I've spent a lot of time in Ebon Rih with Rihlanders, and other races, not to mention my training all over Kaeleer."

"I should have guessed that from an accomplished young Queen," he said. "You see, I was asked to approach you concerning where you will rule. There is a District where the Queen wishes to step down and only rule her home village. The District consists of four medium sized villages and a large town. I can assure you that the District is well-off, and would be able to provide a tithe so that you would be able to live as a Queen should."

Orian's curiosity was peaked. She had received several offers for towns, and a couple of small districts, ones that had maybe three smaller villages in them, but nothing like this. "Where is it?" she asked.

"The District is where the town of Rolla is," he said. "It's…"

"On the border of Little Terreille," she interrupted, her voice flat. "I've heard that some of the foolishness that goes on in Little Terreille made it across the borders. I would not allow that in any place I ruled."

"Exactly," Lorivar said with a smile. "They want a polished Queen, one who learned Protocol with the High Lord's grandchildren, and learned how to be a Queen from the former Queen of Ebon Askavi and her First Circle. And a long-lived Queen would ensure that it would be centuries before a new Queen would rule." He thought for a moment. "Although, this is a more difficult District. If you did well there, there's a possibility you would receive a larger, or wealthier District. Maybe even becoming a Province Queen. Still, they would know that they had a strong, polished Queen to back them for many centuries to come."

Orian fingered her Rose Jewel. "I'm not strong in power," she said. "Do they know that?"

Lorivar's voice deepened became husky and she felt the seductive tendrils creeping from him. Not an intentional seduction spell, but the natural seductiveness that all Warlord Princes held for a Queen. "They know. And they would prefer it if the Queen in question had a dark-Jeweled Consort at her side." His lips brushed over her knuckles, eyes focused on hers.

Orian's breath caught in her throat. "So," she said, her voice breathy, "you and the District are a package deal?"

Lorivar's laugh filled the coach. "My darling, nobody would dream of requiring a Queen to take a specific Consort. They would like you to have dark-Jeweled males as your triangle. But I would ask that you would consider me for your Consort."

Orian felt the heat rising in her cheeks as she thought about what he was saying. "I…I have to think about it," she finally murmured.

"I know," he said. "But while you are thinking on matters, there's one other matter that perhaps I could also persuade you to consider."

She waited, unable to ask.

"Rolla's Queen wishes to step down soon. Before summer, if possible. I know you were planning to make your Offering in late summer, but to take the District; it would have to be sooner. This, of course, means your Virgin Night would need to be moved up as well."

Orian knew her cheeks were flaming red at the moment. She knew what he was about to suggest, and had no idea on how to answer him as a Queen should, in a way that was mature and sophisticated.

Lorivar kissed her hand again. "I would like it, very much, if you would consider me for your consort to see you through your Virgin Night. Even if you do not wish me to accept the Consort's ring later, I would consider it an honor and privilege as a Warlord Prince and your friend to see you through that most important of nights."

Orian was sure her face was going to catch on fire. Protocol, she thought, reminding herself of the hundreds of hours of Protocol lessons she had been through. "Prince Dastol, I have heard your petition, and will consider it with the utmost seriousness," she said formally. "No decision will be made this night, but I will carefully consider the matter and return to you my decision."

Lorivar bowed his head slightly. "I leave the matter in your hands alone," he replied, a proper answer for a Warlord Prince who was allowing his Queen to make a decision without interference. Orian thought there was a slight undercurrent of threat to that statement, and wondered what Lorivar would do if she discussed everything with Daemonar. Sweet Darkness, what would Daemonar do if she told him of Lorivar's offer?

"While you are considering the matter," Lorivar said, "would you allow me to escort you out tomorrow for dinner?"

Her face brightened, and then dimmed. "I can't," she said. "I promised Tersa that I would go Winsol shopping with her."

"It's an all day and night event?"

Orian gave him a dark look. "Tersa doesn't shop like most people. She's got both the energy and sense of a roomful of puppies when it comes to shopping. Plus, her gift list is, well, unusual."

Lorivar was trying not to laugh. "Come now, it can't be that different."

"She shops for the Weaver of Dreams. Even her mother never got the Weaver a Winsol gift. Tersa does. Do you know how many clerks have been terrified of Tersa after hearing that the gift is going to Arachna?"

"No human would dare go there," Lorivar said, her voice deadly serious. "She dares to bring them tribute?"

Orian looked at him, confused. "They taught her the Hourglass's Craft, just as they taught her mother. It's not a tribute, it's a gift. I've been with Tersa a few times when she took it, and the Weaver thanked her for the gift."

Lorivar just stared at her for a moment in disbelief. "You're joking. You've never been there before."

"Not alone," she said, feeling uncomfortable. She forgot sometimes that not everyone had such a diverse upbringing, but Lorivar's gaping was making her feel freakish. "Only with Tersa. And don't worry, I've had more lectures about being on my best behavior with the Weavers from the High Lord than you can ever imagine."

Lorivar wanted to order her to stay away from the Weaver's Territory. Orian could see it in the set of his jaw and the steel in his eyes. But he wanted her to allow him to stake a claim and court her, and giving her orders to stay away from a friend would not be the way to begin their relationship. She patted his hand. "Please don't worry," she said, soothingly, "I'll never go there without invitation. And there's a lot of places I've been that aren't usually hospitable to outsiders. Like Dea al Mon. Nobody goes there without an invitation, and I've been there lots of times. It's just a matter of respecting people's boundaries."

"It's dangerous," he finally said. "How can your family permit you spending time with those..those…"

The air of the coach chilled as his words pricked her temper. "The Lady gave me permission to visit Arachna when invited," she said coolly. "I will not refuse my best friend something as simple as a traveling companion when I've been invited as well."

Lorivar swallowed. "Yes, Lady, I can see that. It's…well, unusual. You can't condemn me for worrying about your safety."

She smiled. No, she couldn't. It was just part of his nature. She patted his hand again to let him know that she understood and wasn't angry about it, but it did make her wonder. Would living with a man make her change? Would she refuse to go with Tersa because he worried? Why would a man who loved her the way she was want her to change something as fundamental as her deepest friendships?

She sighed and looked out the window into the darkness. So much had happened that night. She needed time to process. And may the Darkness be merciful, because she had no idea what she was going to decide.


	8. Chapter 8

"And that's when he asked to see me through my Virgin Night," Orian said. "I told him, by Protocol, that I would consider his petition, and by then we were at my eyrie so we said goodnight and I went home."

Tersa stared straight at her. She blinked once, and Orian looked away. "You think it's that bad?" Orian asked.

The tea cup in Orian's hand vanished, and was replaced by a metal flask. Orian uncapped it, sniffed, and looked at her friend warily. "What's this?"

"Gravedigger concentrate. Make sure you get the whole thing down Daemonar, undiluted, before telling him any of this."

Tersa wasn't known for her sense of humor, and Orian knew she wasn't joking. "That bad?"

"Let's get this straight," Tersa said, "You have two Warlord Princes who want to court you, one of whom has more of Lucivar in him than we've seen to date, and a man who is pretending his rival is just a boy chasing after his chosen Queen. Do you realize how close to a bloodbath you were last night?"

Orian bit her lower lip for a moment. "I thought at first Daemonar was just being his usual protective self. And then he went to the party, and well, it was…different. Like I was _really_ seeing him for the first time."

*You have known Daemonar for a long time. How did you not see him?*

Darkguide's question, which on the surface might seem like something an animal with little understanding of human interaction would ask, was actually quite accurate, and being asked by an animal with a better understanding of human behavior than most would guess. Darkguide sat up on her haunches so that she could look at the two women. The three of them were in a café in Amdarh, and the big cat's movement caused several other Ladies, most who had not noticed the white cat against the white carpet, to gasp and murmur in shock and fear. Darkguide ignored the commotion and focused on the Ladies she was escorting for the day.

"He's just…well, he's always there. It's like trying to watch a flower bloom."

Tersa thought that was the best analogy anyone could have come up with to describe Orian and Daemonar. "Does either belong to you? Tersa asked quietly.

Orian understood what she meant. A Queen could feel it when a Warlord Prince really belonged to her. Or was supposed to at any rate. She knew from her lessons that she should feel an immediate connection. She sighed. "I can't really tell. Daemonar is just so much a part of my life that I can't imagine him not being there. And Lorivar…well, I don't know if it's a real connection, or that I feel his desire to be with me."

Tersa thought about the tangled web of dreams and visions she had woven the night before, but said nothing. Orian would choose soon, and her choice would have a lasting impact on Kaeleer. But the web could not predict what free will would dictate, and could not say who she would choose, only that their conversation today would help her decide. She thought another moment on the last part of her web, a part that confused and disturbed her. A broken Jewel. She didn't know if that was symbolic, a warning, or a prediction. She knew she was not going to allow her friend to be broken. But that wasn't what it felt like…it had felt…masculine.

"Do you think I should accept the District, regardless of who I choose to be my Consort?" Orian asked, knowing she was asking the Black Widow more than her friend.

Tersa's eyes darkened. They were blue-gold, and when she spoke as a Queen, they would change, looking like melted sapphires in molten gold. The gold would seem to move and swirl almost hypnotically. Orian knew that Tersa might say she wasn't Witch, and never would be, but when she saw her best friend's eyes change like that, she knew that she was talking to dreams made flesh, a young, but very powerful version of Witch.

"All things are predicated on free will," she said, her voice holding a hint of midnight in it. "The taint was cleaned from the Blood, but there are still seeds that can bloom. That District will either begin spreading seeds that will have to be rooted out again, or it will hold, with Protocol and the Old Ways being held by a Queen of strong conviction."

Orian's breath caught in her throat as Tersa's eyes cleared back to their normal blue-gold, no longer far-seeing. Tersa regarded her carefully, not as Witch, but as a friend who knew her well.

"You had already made up your mind though, hadn't you?"

Orian shrugged. "I…it's just…" she stammered off, and then started over. "I don't want to rule in Askavi," she finally admitted in a small voice, looking down.

*All kittens must leave the den. There is no shame for a kitten to want to make her own den far from the others.*

Orian smiled at the Arcerian and scratched behind her ear, making the cat purr. "You're right. Some kittens do need to roam to find their own place. I'm glad you did."

"Most Eyriens like to remain among their own," Tersa said. She shrugged. "You've been raised around so many other races, it's natural you would feel comfortable leaving Askavi."

*I will come with you. I am learning to heal humans and kindred. I will help the Queen train her Court.*

Orian smiled at the cat. "I hoped you would come. If I'm in Rolla, I'm going to need all the help I can get."

"Help isn't something to worry about, Sister," Tersa said. "Even if you don't choose Daemonar as your Consort, everyone will know that you are not merely a Purple-Dusk or Opal Queen, but a Queen with the backing of the SaDiablo family. That means alliances with the kindred, the Dea al Mon next door, and most of the Territory Queens. In Little Terreille, they still talk about how granddad got custody of Mama. It's always better to be loved, but sometimes, its better that they fear you first, and learn to love you later."

Tersa had a pragmatic view, Orian though. But it was still true. Even without a Consort, she would have the backing needed to be a strong Queen. For those who wanted to live under the Old Ways and honored Protocol, she would be a benevolent Queen, fair and upright. For those that wanted to change things, turning her land into a nightmare of fear and distrust between males and females, she would be backed by power so dark they would fear it more than they would desire to destroy the Old Ways.

"Do you think people will think the whispering and snide comments finally drove me away?" Orian pondered.

The room chilled. Darkguide growled, and even without Craft the sound carried through the room. There were gasps and the sounds of dropped tea cups, but Orian could only feel the anger coming off of Tersa, and Darkguide's cold question.

*Who is trying to drive you away? To hurt a Queen is worthy of execution.*

"Yes, Orian…who is trying to push you from Askavi?" Tersa's question, so cold, made Orian wish she had never brought it up.

"Nobody has asked me to leave," she said quickly. "It's just…they know I'm not pure Eyrien. And it matters to aristo Eyriens."

*Daemonar is not. Prince Yaslana is not. Those who are trying to hurt you are stupid meat.*

Stupid meat was considered safe to hunt by Arcerians. "Foolish and cruel," Orian corrected quickly, "but I will not allow you…either of you…to hurt anyone over foolish behavior. It just makes it easier for me to decide to leave Askavi."

"And what will those same people say about Kirian when it's time for her to rule Askavi?" Tersa asked.

"Nothing. It's okay for her to not be pure Eyrien considering that the rest of her bloodline is the High Lord. That's forgivable. But not when the other blood was a light-Jeweled Hayllian witch."

Tersa didn't respond, and the room started to warm a bit. Orian wondered what communication had happened between Tersa and Darkguide, but decided not to ask. She suspected that Prince Yaslana was going to have a little chat soon with Tersa, and when Kirian took the throne to Askavi, there would be nobody left that would dare utter a word about her dual-bloodline.

Enough serious talk, Orian decided. She had made up her mind about taking Rolla and its District, and that was enough major decisions for one day. Besides, it was already lunch and they still had a whole list of places to go and things to get. And…maybe…

"Do you think it's time for me to get Daemonar a real Winsol gift?"

Tersa's eyebrows rose at the abrupt change in topic. "That would be the end of an era."

Orian shrugged. "Maybe it's time for it to end."

Their lunch was served then, and they ate companionably, Darkguide enjoying a large plate of raw beef stew on the floor while her Queens had soup and sandwiches.

*He will need a new setting for his Jewel.*

Both Ladies perked up. Orian looked over her sandwich at Darkguide. "That's perfect!" She looked at Tersa. "Do you know if his parents already have that in mind?"

Tersa thought. "No, they haven't. A setting is normally personal. But I'm willing to bet he'd like anything you got for him."

Orian smiled, called in her Winsol list and a pen and wrote it down on her list. A real gift from her. Wouldn't he be surprised?


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed the story so far. It's going to be a longer one than I had anticipated (I had originally thought ten chapters at most, and now it's looking more to the 15-20 range, but hey as long as my readers are willing to stick it out, than so am I) but I'm enjoying these characters and finding out what they're getting into. And I love some of the reviews/emails I've gotten where readers are a little concerned for the characters. As a writer, my goal is to draw you in to the story, and I feel like I accomplished it when someone emails and is analyzing and guessing, worried about these characters. So again, thank you for the reviews. They're the grease that keeps the fiction wheel spinning.

To answer something I got in email, I had originally envisioned this story taking place about 40 years after The Shadow Queen, since the long-lived races matured more slowly. Then I was rereading Heir to the Shadows and it mentioned that Luthvian was about a thousand when she had Lucivar, which was just barely old enough to have a child. So, it seems they age and mature way more slowly than I had thought. So yes, it's a big continuity error, and no, I'm not going to try and fix it, mostly because I need Jaenelle alive right now. So, I'm officially making a *poof* in my skewed version of Kaeleer, and long lived races can be considered very young adults (I'm putting them at the emotional age of about 17 or so) when they are chronologically about 40-45.

That being said, on with the story!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Orian and Tersa shopped the rest of the day, with Darkguide ever present as chaperone. Tersa's eclectic shopping was the delight and bane of every merchant in town. They loved her gold marks, but were always tired and slightly dizzy by the time she left a store. Orian had found the handmade silk shawl she wanted to get for her mother and the matching knives for her father and brothers. Small gifts to be sent to the Territory Queens in whose Courts she had apprenticed at, and a bag of sweets for her brothers just because. She had found music crystals for friends, and had noted a painting that Tersa really liked. She'd had a few seconds with the shopkeeper to arrange to have the picture sent to Askavi. And after four jewelry stores, she'd finally found the right setting for Daemonar's Jewel. It was being engraved and would be sent to her home as soon as it was done.

Tersa had done her fair share of shopping as well. She had little baskets full of treats for the various species of puppies that were running around the Hall, and a fountain for the unicorns that had discovered that it was nice to have a Craft-powered source of running water far away from a pond or lake. Luckily, she already had a gift for the Weaver of Dreams and the dragons. They went to a toy store and bought bags and bags of toys and games and dolls, some of which would be sent to the High Lord so he could take it to the children's island in the Dark Realm, and the rest would go to the orphan schools in Dhemlan.

The sun was setting and the shops were starting to close when the girls decided that it was time to head back to the family town house. Orian would have flown them to the townhouse, but there was no way to manage both Tersa and Darkguide, so they went to the corner to summon a coach. A few moments later, a coach pulled up. The door opened, and Lorivar stepped out, looking pleasantly surprised.

"Orian, darling, I didn't expect to see you here," he said, taking her hand and kissing it lightly.

"Oh," Orian stuttered, stunned that Lorivar of all people would be there. "Um, Lorivar, I'm…it's so nice to see you." She remembered her manners. She gestured to her companions. "This is Lady Tersa Angelline, and Lady Darkguide from Arceria. Ladies, this is Prince Lorivar Dastol."

Lorivar faced her companions and took breath, getting a feel for the Ladies his Orian was with. The punch of power that met him almost made him gasp. He had to fight to maintain a pleasant, unconcerned appearance as he smiled at the dark haired girl and her enormous cat. The cat was kindred. He hadn't spent much time around them, but he knew the Opal she wore wasn't a decorative gem, but Jewel. And the girl…he wore the Sapphire and knew what the Red was supposed to feel like. This was so much darker than he could have anticipated, sheer, absolute, strength. It felt like the Red, but a darker Red than he had ever felt before…Red, with a Black heart.

"Ladies," he said, bowing. The bow gave him the precious seconds he needed to regain control over himself.

"Prince," Tersa said, softly.

"Lorivar," Orian said, not liking the way Tersa was watching the Eyrien, "why are you here?"

"I had business to attend here," he said with a smile. "I thought it would be a perfect day to leave Askavi since you were to be otherwise occupied. I didn't realize that you meant you would be doing your shopping here." He took a breath, deciding to do what was polite, and expected of a male. "Would you Ladies allow me to escort you to dinner?"

The last thing he wanted was to spend hours under the dark stare of those blue-gold eyes that were watching him intently, not to mention the huge cat that seemed to be waiting for an excuse to rip off his arm, but a male never allowed Ladies that he knew to go off without acting as escort. Asking their permission was a formality. A Warlord Prince asked nicely once, and then refused to budge the rest of the time. Lorivar felt the desires of the Warlord Prince conflict with self-preservation, but he was still trying to be accepted by his chosen Queen. Protocol needed to be observed.

"Oh," Orian said, trying to decide what to do. They had been planning a dinner back at the townhouse, but it wouldn't be proper to invite him over. She wanted to go out with him, but she also didn't want to ditch her friends to run off with a man.

"Why don't you and Prince Dastol get some dinner," Tersa said. "I'm quite tired myself, and was looking forward to a quiet dinner at the townhouse." She glanced at the cat. "Lady Darkguide, you wouldn't mind being chaperone, would you?"

*I will protect the Queen.*

A proper response and threat all in one sentence.

"Then it's settled," Tersa said. She touched the cat's back with her palms, fingers spread open. She lifted her hands up moving them as if she was shaping the air. Both Orian and Lorivar gasped as red and black wings began to appear as if they had grown from the cat's back.

"There," Tersa said. "Now you can fly with them to whatever restaurant they wish to go."

Orian was wide-eyed. "That's not illusion?"

Tersa shook her head. "Temporary, but not illusion. She'll fly just fine"

"Would you like my Coach, Lady?" Lorivar asked politely.

"Thank you, Prince, but I'd like to walk for a bit. Please don't worry about my safety. There's no person in this Territory that would lay hands on The Sadist's daughter." She turned and began walking away, Red shields wrapping around her as she slid away into the deepening night.

Lorivar let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when she turned the corner. "Quite an unusual young woman," he commented.

Orian sighed. "SaDiablo family. They have that effect on most people until you get to know them. But don't worry. They're wonderful people, and Tersa's the sweetest person."

She knelt so that she was on level with Darkguide. "Will you be okay flying? We can take a coach or walk."

*I can fly. The Lady taught us. It is only fast air walking.*

Orian stroked Darkguide's head, realizing how long it had been planned for the great cat to be with her. Few land-based animals were comfortable in the air. For Darkguide to be so blasé about flying meant that she had spent many hours in the air practicing. A perfect companion for a winged Queen that liked to fly rather than take a coach.

Orian stood and Lorivar took her hand. "Shall we?" he asked. She smiled and they launched into the air, Darkguide close behind.

As they flew away, Tersa dropped her sight shields. It was an easy illusion to make it seem like she had left. Instead she had descended to the Opal and gave Darkguide the instructions to make sure, no matter what, that Orian came back to the townhouse, no matter what her little Queen or the Prince said. Darkguide had made it clear that she already intended to make sure her Lady got home safely. The Prince was not welcome in the townhouse.

Something was scratching Tersa's temper. She wasn't sure what, but she didn't like the way it poked at her. She knew what she needed to do, but most of her Hourglass tools were back at the Hall. Tersa wrapped all of her shields around herself again so that nobody would be able to see or feel her. Then she did something that she rarely did. Something only her parents and grandfather knew that she was capable of doing.

She reached, caught the Black wind, and headed to the Hall as fast as she could.


	10. Chapter 10

Tersa dropped from the Black close to the Hall, and staggered, fighting not to vomit. Flying on the Black was a dizzying and dangerous experience. It kept trying to throw her out, somehow sensing she shouldn't be there, and she fought to stay in. It was exhausting, and sometimes left her sick to her stomach if she traveled over a long distance.

Today, there was no time for such self-indulgence.

She passed directly through the door, running up the stairs to her rooms. She was met by two Sceltie puppies, both only a few months old. They had laid claim to her, and didn't like it when she left the Hall without them.

*Tersa is home! Tersa play?*

Tersa stopped at her door. "I have to work," she told the dogs. "I need you both to stand guard at my door and make sure I'm not interrupted. It's very important that I weave this web undisturbed. Are you ready to be my protectors and guard me?"

*We protect the Lady! We are fierce!*

The little dogs bared their teeth and growled. They might have looked scary if they hadn't been barely ankle high with wagging tails. Tersa smiled at them and passed through her door into her sitting room. She loved the puppies to death, but she needed to concentrate and tiny Warlord Princes weren't the best at leaving their Queen alone. Asking them to guard her was the best way to get a little privacy, although her mother had warned her that wouldn't last for long before the kindred dogs decided they needed to be with her to guard her.

Tersa stripped off her long black leather coat and tossed it on the couch as she went to the door on the left and entered her workroom. Cabinet doors opened and bins and jars flew into place as Tersa settled into a chair in front of her favorite frame. The bin closest to her opened and she pulled out a bundle of spider silk and began weaving a tangled web.

Daemon was in his study reading reports from the Dhemlan Queens when he felt Red power flow through the Hall. Tersa was home and in a hurry. He paused in reading. Something was wrong with the Red power, and then he caught the way it resonated with his Black. She had been on the Black Wind, not something she did without cause. She was supposed to have been in Amdarh and spending the night there with Orian.

He got up and headed up to her rooms. Even if they had gotten into a fight, Tersa would never have left her friend alone. She had been taught to be responsible for those in her care far too well. Plus, Tersa was never one for adolescent tantrums. No, she was her father's daughter, and her displays of anger were also far colder and more frightening than mere adolescent hysteria.

Daemon was almost at her door when he heard two tiny snarls and growls. There was a tug on his pants and he looked down to see a puppy with a mouthful of his trousers, little paws set firm, trying to pull Daemon away from the door. The other puppy air walked so that he was in the middle of the door, growling as well.

*No! Tersa can't be disturbed. We guard the Queen. She asked us because we are brave and fierce.*

Daemon fought back the smile that was trying to erupt. Soon enough these two would be full-grown Warlord Princes and he would be glad that they were there to protect and serve his daughter. Right now, they were two cute puppies that were looked more adorable than fierce. These were the two, that when they started to get their fur, Tersa had been cuddling and said they looked like someone had taken butterscotch and poured over them. With their white fur, and the yellow-brown markings on their back, the almost-identical pups did look that way. The little puppies decided the Queen had named then, and thus she belonged to them. Since then, Butter and Scotch had been with her every moment they could.

"Butter," he said, "do not rip my trousers." He put just enough into his voice and tone so that the puppies were reminded who the dominant male in this house was. Butter released his pants, and shrunk back for a second, but then gathered his courage and trotted to stand beside his brother.

Daemon regarded the puppies for a moment. "Do you think Tersa needs to be guarded from me?"

*Tersa said she can't be disturbed.* Scotch's tone was a little uncertain now. *She asked us to guard the door because she has to weave.*

Daemon placed a hand on the door and descended to the Red. *Tersa?*

A sensation rose up and out, a response of sorts. She was fine, but engaged in a tangled web. The answering spell was something that Jaenelle had created years before. With three Black Widows under the same roof, they needed to be assured of having privacy at times. Interrupting a difficult web, especially one involving dreams and visions could be dangerous not only to the weaver, but the person interrupting as well. Setting this spell at the door was the best way to let someone know that the Widow in question was busy and would respond back later.

Daemon stood there for a moment longer, not liking the way her return felt. She never, ever used the Black Wind unless it was an emergency. Now she wasn't talking, and it was scraping his temper, pulling at his instincts as a Warlord Prince to push his way into the room and find out what was wrong. But he was also a Black Widow and knew better than any other living male how dangerous it could be to disrupt a Black Widow when she was weaving a tangled web of visions. A Black Widow could make the mental sidestep into the visions, coming dangerously into the borders of the Twisted Kingdom. If an interruption was powerful enough at the wrong time, it would be possible for the witch to become lost in the Twisted Kingdom, unable to return.

Daemon returned to his study, unable to concentrate on his paperwork anymore. Jaenelle was at the Keep with Jaxin, their son. They were due back soon, and when she came home, they were going to check on their daughter. She would know if it was safe for Tersa to be interrupted, and Tersa better have a damn good reason for using the Black Wind. She knew it wasn't safe, and shouldn't use it without him or the High Lord to help her.

Daemon leaned back and closed his eyes, sending a psychic communication to his wife.

*Tersa came back from Amdarh.*

*Wasn't she supposed to spend the night?*

*She was. She came home on the Black Wind, went right upstairs, and into her workroom to weave a tangled web.*

*Hmm. We're almost done here, and I'll come straight home. She didn't speak to you at all?*

*No.* Amusement tinted his mental tone. *She talked the puppies into standing watch at the door to guard her.*

Jaenelle's silvery laugh filled his mind. *I'll be home soon.* A phantom kiss pressed against his lips and then she was gone.

Daemon sighed, trying to remember why, exactly, they had decided to have children. Jaxin was four years older than Tersa and also wore the Red, although he'd most likely wear the Grey or Ebon-Grey when he made his offering. When Jaxin was born, Daemon had breathed a sigh of relief when the boy looked like Jaenelle. Saetan had told him how he never wanted his son to carry the burden of his name, and when Daemon held his son for the first time, he finally really understood what his father meant. Although Jaxin had some of his features, including light brown skin, he had his mother's dazzling blue eyes and a bit of blonde fuzz on top of his head when he was born.

Jaxin was Jaenelle's son, through and through. People gravitated to him, even from a young age. He was a natural leader, but that had a tendency to get him in trouble because he also inherited Jaenelle's sense of mischief and ability to think up games that could make a parent's heart stop. He excelled at Lucivar's weapons training, although not as well as Daemonar, but was far better with his studies at school and under the High Lord. He had received offers to be in half a dozen Courts, but had decided to wait until Tersa set up hers after she asked if he would be her First Escort if she didn't have a Consort.

Daemon understood why he was avoiding Court entanglements right now. He was a prize, being young Prince Sadi, grandson of the High Lord. His first cousin was to be Queen of Askavi, and sister would rule Ebon Askavi. Too many women would want him for his connections and wealth, with a handsome face to boot. He would prefer a woman to want him for himself. And besides, he had become the official liaison to the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, and had plenty to keep him occupied, traveling the realm on his father's behalf. The boy was a hard worker, and he really did save Daemon a lot of time and trouble. And to be honest, most people would rather see him than Daemon show up. Jaxin was going to make his Offering within the year, and maybe then he should take a temporary position in another Court, but until then, Daemon didn't see any reason why the boy shouldn't have some freedom and fun.

But then there was Tersa. When she was born, he understood what his father had felt. She had opened her eyes and looked at him, only minutes old, and those blue-gold eyes seemed to pierce into his soul. She wasn't quite a mirror, but her beauty was already apparent, and he knew without a doubt that he was holding the next Queen of Ebon Askavi. Jaenelle had taken her newborn daughter and looked into her tiny face. "Tersa," she had said, midnight in her voice. "Tersa Saetana Angelline." Daemon had shivered. So Witch saw it too. Then the baby had yawned, smacked her tiny lips, blew a bubble and fell asleep. Both Daemon and Jaenelle laughed, and the moment of awe at what she would be was replaced with joy of having her right then.

Tersa had proved to be his daughter. Her babyhood beauty had matured into a ravishing young woman. She had Daemon's cold, polished beauty, the kind that made most young men reach for her, but afraid of her as well. She seemed cold and aloof, but when around friends and family, she was actually a warm and loving girl. She had been excited to receive a Red Jewel as her Birthright, but only because Jaxin had one and he lorded it over her. Her parents had been relieved as well. Jaenelle had been afraid that Tersa would walk out holding a Black Jewel. She didn't want her baby to live with the isolation. Even though Tersa would have a loving family that would help her with that kind of power, Jaenelle knew that there would always be a gulf between her and every other Blood in her life if she wore Ebony.

Jaenelle's psychic scent filled Daemon's nostrils, taking him out of his reverie. She filled the Hall with her presence in the way that no other person ever had or would. The door to his study opened. "It's safe," Jaenelle said, standing in the doorway.

Daemon got up and they both went up the stairs towards their daughter's suite. "Jaxin?" he asked.

"I suggested that he take Lila to dinner," she replied. Lila was Granny Tersa's current caretaker, and also the girl that Jaxin was currently wildly in love with. If pattern held true, he would be wildly in love for another few weeks before getting bored and meeting his "true" soul-mate, falling wildly in love with her for a while.

The puppies were still guarding the door. Before they could put up a fight, Daemon slapped a shield around them and he swept through the door with Jaenelle without argument. Well, unless you discounted the outraged barking and pitiful howling. Jaenelle hesitated at the door of Tersa's workroom, touching the door. Daemon could see her eyes darken to sapphire, and then the door opened.

Tersa was sitting in front of a tangled web. Jaenelle was by far the strongest Black Widow in all three realms, but Tersa was a fast weaver. Even so, the web didn't look like it would be able to tell much. Then he noticed that her necklace was looped over a peg in the top of the frame so that her Red Jewel touched the web. She used her thumbnail to prick her finger and smeared a drop of blood onto the Jewel. The Jewel flashed with power, glowed, and then the web began to glow. To an untrained observer, it would look like a tangle of spider silk. To the Black Widows in the room, it began a web of vision.

"I met Daemonar's rival tonight," Tersa said without turning around. "I don't like him, Papa. I really, really don't like him."

The room was chilly and getting colder. Daemon felt himself beginning to rise to the killing edge, ready to be his daughter's sword. "There's a simple method for dealing with him," he said, thinking of the graves he'd dug that nobody had ever found.

Jaenelle lifted her hand, Twilight's Dawn flashing. Her ring changed to Ebon-Grey with a Red center and tiny veins of Black. The vision swirled, changing with possibility. It flashed and flickered so quickly neither Tersa nor Daemon could keep up with it. "No," Witch said, "it must be Orian's choice. Her choice now decides for all."

Tersa pointed at one part of the web. "This is what makes the difference." She turned to face her parents, her face full of worry and dread. They tried to stay out of things that didn't apply to them, and had never, in all the years she could remember, attempted to directly influence Little Terreille. "Will you stand?"

Daemon's fingers wrapped around Jaenelle's hand. After so many years together, there were times that they didn't need to communicate directly to know what the other would say. He took his daughter by the hand. "We will stand," he said formally, a Warlord Prince giving his word to a Queen.

He looked at the web again, seeing the vision even clearer with Jaenelle's power still flowing through it. Yes, they would stand. And may the Darkness have mercy on them all.


	11. Chapter 11

Lorivar sat in his coach, his impassive face revealing nothing of his turbulent thoughts. A summons, from Orian, to SaDiablo Hall. He had received it yesterday. It was worded politely, asking him to please meet her there at an appointed time. Polite, but formal. It was the request of a Queen who knew enough Protocol to request a Warlord Prince be somewhere at a certain time, but able to keep the request from being a bitchy command.

So, the question remained. Why would he be invited to SaDiablo Hall? Lorivar had come up with two possibilities, both of which were equally possible. Either Orian had decided she liked his offer and wanted to formally accept in a setting more grand than her parent's home, or young Yaslana had convinced his uncle to eliminate the boy's rival. It was tempting to contact Orian on a psychic thread and ask if she had really sent for him, but he didn't. After all, what was the fun in life if there weren't a few surprises? Besides, Lorivar was originally from Terreille. He had heard legends of The Sadist. If Sadi had decided it was time for Lorivar to die, there wasn't much he could do but walk in and face it like a warrior.

The coach turned onto the drive that led to the front of the Hall. It didn't matter how many grand palaces that Lorivar had seen before. This one topped them all. At first he thought that he was looking at a walled village. And then he remembered what he had been told about the Hall. The whole thing was a house. A monument to ego and glory, he thought. The first male to ever wear the Black wanted to show off in fine form, and Lorivar had to admit, the High Lord certainly accomplished that.

The coach stopped and Lorivar exited. He had thought about simply flying here, but taking a coach added the right note of formality that matched the invitation. He approached the great doors which opened. A Red Jeweled butler gave a small bow of the head, and then allowed him to enter. Lorivar glanced around, assessing the place. It was magnificent. The front hall was open, but there were plenty of places for an ambush on the visitor. Lorivar smiled. The High Lord wasn't Eyrien, but he planned this place like a warrior would. Few escape routes beside the front door, and not many people could quickly get through the Red lock that the butler could throw on the door, but plenty of places attack could come from. Either you entered the Hall under the flag of invited guest, or you never planned to leave it alive again.

Lorivar didn't let any of those thoughts show. His face remained the arrogant smile of an Eyrien warrior as the butler spoke.

"Prince Dastol, Prince Sadi has instructed me to escort you to the reception hall."

Lorivar nodded and the butler led him through a maze of halls and passages. Lorivar knew that he could get back if he needed to, but there was the matter of amazement at the grandeur of the place. It wasn't like the great manor homes and palaces he had seen in the courts in Terreille. Those were obviously on display and seemed to scream "look at me, I'm special, I'm powerful, look, look, look at me!" This place was more subtle. A home for people who actually had great power and didn't need to put on fine feathers to fool someone into thinking it. The furnishings were of the highest quality, even if they weren't all covered in gold or silver cloth, and the décor was eclectic but lovely. No, the Hall was for the people that lived there and not a display for those who visited.

They entered the formal receiving hall, and Lorivar knew this was one of the places for Ceremony at the Hall. He could vaguely sense the power inherent in each stone, a dark power that was far below his. This particular room was a place of special power, more so than the rest of SaDiablo Hall. It was furnished more simply than he had seen in other rooms, but when power was pulsing from every direction, furnishing wasn't needed.

Three-quarters the way across the room, Orian sat in a chair on a dais. A long black runner extended down from the dais to near where he entered. The room was lit with witchlight, balls of fire floating in regular intervals down the wall. Orian didn't look at him, but stared straight ahead. On her left…well, wasn't that interesting? Where he would have expected to see her parents stood a man and woman who were distinctively not Eyrien.

The man looked at him and Lorivar felt the punch of sexual heat the flowed from him. He gasped; glad his long coat hid his body's momentary reaction to all that heat. And that wasn't a seduction spell, but the man's natural sensuality, honed into a dangerous weapon. Lorivar had spent the first 1,100 years of his life in Terreille, and had made sure to keep out of The Sadist's way due to the man's reputation alone. Now, facing him for the first time in the flesh, he knew he had made a wise decision.

The woman was from one of the short-lived races, past her prime, but still holding on to some of her earlier beauty. She would have been easy to dismiss except for the Jewel she was wearing and the man by her side. Lorivar had, of course, heard of Twilight's Dawn, the most unique Jewel in the history of the Blood, but he had never met the Lady who wore it. They said she was Witch, though she didn't seem any more powerful than his Sapphire. One could still dismiss her except for the fact that she had been happily married to Sadi for decades. Any woman that could be with The Sadist that long had to have power, even if her Jewel said otherwise.

Lorivar strode down the black carpet and dropped to one knee in front of Orian. "How may I serve you?" he asked formally.

"Prince Lorivar Dastol," Orian said, her voice a little deeper, more formal, more…regal than he had heard before. Her arm gestured towards the two people standing next to her. "I introduce the former Queen of Ebon Askavi, Lady Jaenelle Angelline, and her husband, Prince Daemon Sadi, Warlord Prince of Dhemlan."

Per proper Protocol, Lorivar looked up at them, bowed his head once and then refocused on Orian, waiting for her to continue.

"They are here to stand and witness my response to your proposal," Orian continued.

A thrill of excitement ran through him followed by a tremor of worry. She had used her phrasing deliberately. If they were there to stand witness, then they were simply there to confirm what was said at this meeting if it ever came into question. By stating that they were there to stand and witness, it meant that they were standing witness, but that they were also supporting her. If she needed aid, even after she assumed her duties as Queen, they would lend assistance. That was not going to make the Dark Council of Little Terreille happy, but it was too late now to back out on the offer.

"Do you state in front of witnesses that you were sent by the Queen of Rolla, representing her District, to ask that I become the next Queen of Rolla and its District?"

"I do so state."

"Do you state in front of witnesses that the Queen wishes to retire by this spring, and further wishes me to assume her duties immediately after?"

"I do so state."

"I have decided," she said, "to accept your offer made on behalf of the Queen of Rolla and its District. I shall make the Offering to the Darkness within two months and will be ready by spring to assume her duties. This I state in front of these witnesses."

Lorivar couldn't help the smile. He looked up at Orian, the question in his eyes, and was pleased with the small blush he received in return. "And the other matter, my Lady?"

"I have not decided on any other matters," she said, sounding more like Orian now. "Nor must I at this moment. It is my wish that you return to Rolla immediately and plan for a meeting between myself and the Queen of Rolla. I should like to meet with her as soon as possible after Winsol so that we may discuss all matters and formalize a contract."

Lorivar bowed his head again. "It shall be as my Lady wills it." Inside he cursed. He didn't want to leave right now. Oh, yes, it made perfect sense since he was the one who had pointed out how Rolla wanted to move quickly, but he didn't want to be gone for the remaining days of the Winsol festival. He had planned on taking Orian to more parties and showing her that he was the strong and virile man she needed by her side to rule.

"It is stated," Orian said.

"And witnessed," chorused the witnesses.

"And agreed," Lorivar said, finishing the ceremonial phrasing. He stood and bowed from the waist to Orian and then to the witnesses.

"Lorivar," Orian said, "I would like a few minutes with you before you leave."

"Of course, darling," he said with a smile.

"Why don't you show Lorivar the courtyard garden?" Jaenelle suggested. Orian shot her a smile of gratitude, knowing why she would make the suggestion. It would be private enough for the two humans, but there would be at least one hidden and well-shielded Arcerian there to chaperone.

Orian stood and Lorivar offered his hand. She placed hers on it and led him out the door, through several corridors and finally to a balcony. The courtyard was below them, covered in a light powder of snow, but still lovely in its still whiteness. Orian grinned at Lorivar and jumped over the railing, her wings flicking out so that she glided to the garden below.

Orian landed softly, Lorivar right behind her. He caught her hand and they wandered through the gardens. "Darling, do you really want me to leave immediately?" he asked.

She smiled. "I need to meet with the Queen soon. Once we meet, well, I might not be acceptable, or the terms might not be acceptable to me. If it doesn't work out, then she needs the time to find another Queen very quickly."

He gave her a warm smile and kissed her fingers. "I will happily leave in the morning as long as you promise to miss me."

She blushed. "Lorivar, there's something you need to know. And if you wish to withdraw your…personal offer after I tell you, I will understand."

His eyebrows rose in question. She took a deep breath. "I'm not pure Eyrien," she confessed.

Lorivar dropped her hand and took a step back, theatrically clutching his chest. "No," mockingly gasped. "It can't be."

She glared at him, but a tiny hint of smile ruined the glare. "You knew."

He dropped the theatrical pose. "Of course I did, darling. Eyrien and curly hair don't usually belong together." He ran a finger down her hair. "But I'll tell you a secret," he said softly. "Few Eyriens are pure. Go back a dozen generations in even the most aristo houses and you'll find a Dhemlan or Hayllian somewhere. They'll say the occasional wingless baby was in distress when it was being born and the wings had to be removed in order to get the baby out and save its life, but most know that it wasn't due to a bad Healer or a birth defect. It's a throwback to a non-Eyrien that became part of the bloodline centuries ago."

He shrugged. "Yours is a little closer to the surface, so its sneered at because they don't want to admit to their own pollutions in the bloodline. As for me, I am interested in you, and not a grandparent or great-grandparent."

She smiled, obviously relieved. "Thank you, Lorivar," she said, pleased with his response and acceptance of who and what she was. "And I will miss you."

His eyes twinkled. "Then that is all the incentive I need to ensure my Lady's meeting is perfect." He kissed her hand again. "May I escort you home?"

She looked a bit regretful. "Lady Angelline wanted to speak with me tonight," she said. "Everyone thought I would get a large town or maybe a two village District. There's a bit more polishing that I suspect the Lady thinks I may need before taking on a larger District."

"I understand," he said, inwardly seething. He wondered who really suggested that he go to Rolla immediately, and who had made sure Orian would meet with Lady Angelline tonight. It wouldn't do to forget that his rival wasn't just some random boy, but a boy whose uncle and aunt might make sure that he had a few added advantages of time. Oh well. It was no matter. He could escort her to some pedestrian party and it would be nice, but she would remember the glamour that he had shown her, and the boy's clumsy attempts at courting her would fall short.

They entered the Hall, and Lorivar recognized that they were near the entrance. She led him to the great entrance hall where the butler stood discretely to the side. "Beale has arranged for one of the Hall's coaches to take you home," she said, and then impulsively rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for everything, Lorivar. May the Darkness embrace you."

"And you, my darling," he said, eyes bright from the first bit of affection that she had shown to him. He caressed her cheek, and then barely brushed his lips over hers. He stepped back his hand lingering on hers, and then he turned and walked away, Beale leading him to the door.


	12. Chapter 12

A yell, and then the distinct sound of a kick. Someone yelled in pain, Daemonar from the sound of it, followed by a snarled, "Kirian, I'm going kick your ass!" A punching sound. Tillian's voice whined loudly, "You two knock it off! I'm trying to do my hair!"

Marian smiled blissfully at Lucivar. "Isn't it wonderful having them all home again?"

Lucivar counted the days quickly. Seven more until her fertile time. He had one week to remind her that children were penance for all your youthful crimes. And the little monsters know just when you're about to pop their little heads off, and then they hold up chubby little arms and say "I wuv ooo, Papa". Then the heart melts and instead of selling them to the lowest bidder, you sweep them up, cuddle the little monster, and get reminded how sweet and wonderful the little creature is when asleep.

They were all supposed to be getting ready for the party at The Tavern. It was one of the last parties before Winsol. They were planning on having Winsol at the Hall with family and various friends. And of course, roughly half the Realm was coming to the Winsol dance that would be held that evening. Traditionally, Winsol was the celebration of Witch. For those at the Hall, the celebration was even more powerful knowing that they had Witch with them.

Daemonar hadn't cared a lick. For the last three days, since Orian had told him she was going to go to Rolla, he had been storming around like a bad tempered tiger with a thorn in his paw. She had tried to tell him that it wasn't about wanting Lorivar for a lover, but that she was being offered a wonderful opportunity for a light-Jeweled Queen, and…and that was about when Daemonar cut her off and the yelling began. They hadn't spoken since. And Daemonar was taking out his hurt on everyone, especially his sisters.

Lucivar was considering the idea of throwing a couple of Ebon-Gray aural shields around Kirian and Daemonar so that they couldn't hear each other, or be heard for that matter. He'd done it many times in the past during their adolescence, but only when Marian wasn't around. There were only so many ways to deal with feuding Eyrien siblings once the arguments got so bad that even the wolves cleared out of the eyrie.

Finally an enraged Daemonar stormed out from the back, half-dressed, with Kirian in hot pursuit. She jumped, intending to land on his back, and slammed into a Sapphire shield that blocked the doorway, bouncing off of it back into the hallway.

"Daemonar Yaslana!" Marian's snarl brought all movement to a halt.

The girls wore Green as their Birthright. Daemonar wore Sapphire. Since Kirian had received her Jewel, Marian had made it very clear that under no circumstances were the disparity between the Jewels allowed to be exploited. And when Mama wasn't happy, nobody in the eyrie was safe.

The Sapphire shield dropped instantly. Kirian gingerly entered the room. Tillian's pale face poked out from the doorway of the bathroom, but she was smart enough not to come out any more.

"My apologies, Mother," Daemonar said through gritted teeth, trying to control himself rather than poke his mother's temper again.

Marian shot him a withering look. "I understand you're upset," she said quietly. Daemonar started to protest, but she held up a hand, instantly silencing him. It was a feat that even the strongest Queens in Kaeleer could barely get him to do, but a light-Jeweled hearth witch had perfected. "You will not take out your disappointments on your sisters or this family."

Kirian snorted. "I don't get it. Why are you mad that Orian is accepting an opportunity that I'd kill for?"

Everyone had been tiptoeing around the real reason for Daemonar's foul mood. Kirian, being Lucivar's daughter in every way, had no problem with not only calling Daemonar out, but pissing on his foot in the process.

"That's shit," Daemonar snarled back. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Kirian put her hands on her hips. "She's got a chance to make a real difference. To make a real change in the Realm and make life better for everyone in that cursed Territory. Sure, I'll have a whole Territory, but it's been ruled well and by Protocol for millennia. I only have to not screw up. She's been offered the ability to really make a change, and instead of helping her, you yelled at her and made her feel bad for doing the right thing!"

"She doesn't want me!" Daemonar roared back.

"I wouldn't want you either, you big jerk!" she yelled back. "He showed her a little romance. You shoved a live weasel down her pants!"

Daemonar moved fast. Faster than anyone could have believed and he would have gotten his hands on Kirian had Lucivar not been a little faster. Instead of Kirian, Daemonar slammed into an Ebon-Gray shield. Daemonar spun around and both his parents saw that his eyes were beginning to glaze. Lucivar wasn't about to get into a fight with his son. Not like this. Not now.

"Dae," Kirian said softly, her tone and whole body language soft and placating now. "Why don't you just tell her? Please? It's hurting me to see my brother hurting so much. Will you do that for me? Please, just let her know and let her make a decision."

Daemonar stood there quietly for a moment, conflicting instincts tearing through him. A request from a Queen was one of the most basic drives of a Warlord Prince. The need to be with his chosen Queen. A request for service.

"Dad," he said tightly, "let me go."

"Where are you going?" Lucivar demanded.

"I need out. Be with the land." Every breath was a fight between him going closer to the killing edge and pulling back from it.

The shields released and Daemonar stumbled out the door. His wings flicked out and he launched himself into the sky.

Parents and sister watched him leave. "Kirian," Lucivar began warningly.

She smiled sweetly. "If I didn't know how he'd react, I would never have pushed him." She'd been trained by the strongest Queens in the realm on how to handle the Warlord Princes under her. How to hold the leash on that lethal temper and work with them in order to get things accomplished. If she couldn't push her brother into letting the girl he was crazy about know that he was crazy about her, then she might as well have been out flying for all the time she had spent learning about handling a Warlord Prince.

Lucivar could only stare at his daughter, realizing that she hadn't been annoying the last few days, but deliberately poking and prodding a young Warlord Prince to this end. And she'd done it so well and skillfully that none of them had realized it. If she'd been one of the Queens he had known in Terreille, he'd try to kill her before a female like that could come into her full strength and take a Territory. But she'd been trained in Protocol by the best, and lived her life according to that code. No, Askavi would do well under her reign.

Whether or not he'd survive being her father remained to be seen.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Daemonar flew as fast as he could to get away from the eyrie, wanting to be out of sight and thinking of nothing but speed and air flowing around him. He flew right above the tree line where a small mistake could have bone crushing consequences. He arched, soaring up, higher and higher and then twisted into a free-fall, waiting until the last second before catching himself and whipping back into the air, making the tiny branches at the tops of the trees sway wildly in the wind he was creating.

It wasn't helping. Nothing helped. He was losing her, and that was all that mattered.

He had tried romance. He'd even learned how to dance! And her response was to announce she was leaving Askavi as quick as she could.

Kirian's words tore at him. Would she really have traded a Territory for that District? Was that the reason? Was it Lorivar? How could it not be? Lorivar was sophisticated, educated. But then, Daemonar had an education that was far better than most Eyriens, better than most people in general, actually. As soon as he learned to read a book and not chew on it, his grandfather had shown him all the knowledge it contained, and although

Daemonar acted like a rough and tumble Eyrien youth who could barely read, he actually had a very polished education.

But Lorivar had romanced her and he had shoved a weasel down her pants when they were kids. Granted, she had shoved a frog down the back of his and it had gotten wedged between his…well, what happened to the frog didn't matter.

Could it really be as simple as telling her how he felt? How he had always felt?

He had been asked to talk to Orian by a Queen. That was also pulling at him. It had been instilled in him by both nature and training to give the leash to a Queen. He'd always felt more compelled to do something Kirian asked over Tillian. Tillian was a Black Widow Healer, and Daemonar had to admit that he liked Tillian more than Kirian most of the time. But Kirian's requests had always had more pull than Tillian's. Which was really annoying when the urge to obey the Queen was as strong as choking the girl when they were both kids.

But this was a request that he wanted to obey. Or not. He didn't want to hear her rejection. Didn't want to see her face lit up at the thought of being with Lorivar. Unless…unless…

With a loud Eyrien war cry, he launched himself back into the air, caught the nearby Opal Wind and headed to Orian's home.


	13. Chapter 13

Orian was home alone. After a lot of pleading, she had convinced her family to go to the party at The Tavern without her. She knew she should go with her head held high, and ignore Daemonar in the most obvious ways possible, but she didn't want to face him tonight. The last time they had talked, well, it wasn't as much talking as screaming at each other; she had left and shouted she never wanted to see him again. Which wasn't true. She already missed spending time with Daemonar. It was the first time since they were in diapers that they had really been apart. Even when they were apprenticing in different courts they had been in written or psychic communication all the time.

She missed her friend. Tersa said not to worry, that SaDiablo men yelled, sulked, and then came around, so just give Daemonar time. But she still missed him.

There was a knock on the door, making Orian jump. She wasn't expecting anyone, and her family's friends were all at the party. Darkguide was visiting her parents to let them know that she would be going to Rolla with Orian. She took a breath. Well, if she wasn't willing to answer a door when it was probably just a messenger from Lorivar, then she wasn't ready to be a Queen.

Orian opened the door and gasped. It was cold and snowing outside and Daemonar was standing at her front door with no shirt or shoes, and only a cloak over his pants. His hair was wet from melting snow, and he was shivering. An hour ago, Orian would have sworn that if Daemonar had shown up at her door she would have slammed the door in his face. Now she found herself demanding that he enter immediately and hauled him in front of the fire. Orian grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around his shoulders, concerned about how hard he was shivering and the paleness of his skin.

Daemonar wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, finally feeling the cold that he had ignored while he had been flying. He had been pushing himself hard enough to ignore the weather, but the minute he walked into the warm living room, he had realized how cold it had actually been outside.

Orian was standing in front of him, chewing nervously on her lower lip. He hated that he was the cause of her distress. He wanted to beg forgiveness, beg her to stay. There was so much to say, but all he could do was blurt out, "Why are you leaving?"

Orian took a breath, gathering her courage. She didn't want to fight anymore, and suddenly thought of the one answer that he couldn't argue with. "Tersa wove a web of vision," she said softly, "and Rolla will either have a Queen that will enforce Protocol, or the seeds of corruption will spread."

Daemonar stood there speechless, feeling like a complete and total ass. He wanted to demand why she hadn't told him that earlier, but he remembered referring to her as a brainless twit who couldn't tell her ass from a hole in the ground rather than asking if she had consulted with a certain Black Widow when making her decision. He thought about what Kirian had said about being able to really make a difference. Orian didn't talk much about it, but he knew that she was uncomfortable with the Eyrien aristos that looked down on her because of her mixed bloodlines. Ruling them would have been a constant struggle that she hadn't been looking forward to.

"They need you," Daemonar said softly. "They need a long-lived polished Queen that's strong enough to enforce Protocol."

"Going to Rolla has nothing to do with you," Orian said. She had told him that before, but this time she said it in a normal tone rather than screaming it while adding "you self-centered bastard".

Daemonar took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I didn't…I'm sorry."

It wasn't in Orian's nature to hold a grudge. Daemonar's new attitude towards her was confusing, but he was a Warlord Prince, and she had been well trained on how to accept and deal with their possessive tendencies. It was hard enough to get one to apologize for being snarly. Now was the time to show that the anger was resolved.

She took a step forward and gave him a hug, arms around his waist. His arms slowly wrapped around her shoulders. It wasn't unusual for them to hug like that, but as her head rested just below her shoulder she realized that although it wasn't the first time they had been this close, the situation was different. The warm fire flickered, making her feel relaxed and comfortable. Daemonar's skin was soft and warm under her cheek. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his arms around her and scent of his skin.

Daemonar's arms tightened around her, pulling her closer. She didn't try to resist, the feeling of his hand stroking her wing making her sigh. Orian opened her eyes wondering what Daemonar's skin would feel like under her fingers. Would he mind? Of course not, that was a stupid question, she told herself. He was enjoying touching her, wasn't he? She hesitantly moved her hand bringing it from around his waist and moving it up over bare stomach and chest.

For the first time in her life hot desire pooled in her middle with the feel of solid muscle covered by silken skin under her fingers. She couldn't help but running her fingers over his shoulder and up his neck. Orian looked up, wanting to touch his face. Her breath caught in her throat and the hot pool of desire seemed to blaze at the look on his face. His breathing was a little ragged and eyes were lightly glazed. If he'd been angry, she would have worried, but this was desire, not the cold rage.

Their eyes met, and she knew that he wanted to kiss her. Was yearning to kiss her, but was fighting the desire to lean over. She wondered why he was holding back. Was he uncertain? Thinking that she would reject him, or become angry? Then the words of Protocol whispered in her brain. A Queen always initiates the first kiss so that her consort will know that his attentions are wanted and welcome. He wasn't unsure. He was being respectful.

Orian rose up slightly on her toes and pressed her lips against his.

Daemonar had been hoping for a civil conversation when he came to see Orian. Kissing her had been completely out of probability. But he sure as Hell wasn't going to give up the moment now that she had opened the door. His arms tightened around her pulling her closer to him. Her whole body seemed to soften and he felt her mouth open a bit. Daemonar had kissed other girls before, but none of them had ever made him feel like this before.

Desire blazed in him as their kiss deepened. Oh, he'd always cared about Orian, loved her since forever, but this was the first time that he wanted, really _wanted_ a woman before. As his tongue touched hers, playing, stroking, his hands started to wander. She didn't protest at all, but made some kind of pleasured noise and ran her hands down his back, letting her leg twine around his. Mother Night, he thought incoherently, full of the taste of her mouth, the smell of her skin, the feel of her body. One hand came around front, cupping her breast and eliciting a real moan of pleasure.

The sound drove him, making him want to press further, wanting to vanish her blouse, touch and taste her everywhere. Daemonar's body ached with desire, and he wanted to say screw it to tradition and just slide to the floor with her right that second. But then a deep, strong voice spoke up in the far back of his mind, the tone of that voice disallowing any argument or resistance.

Orian couldn't help the snarl that escaped her when Daemonar pulled back, breathing hard, but not letting her go. She liked the way his body felt against hers, the heat of his mouth on her and the way his touch made her feel tingly all over. She wondered for a moment if she had done something wrong, but the light glaze in his eyes said that he had been enjoying their moment as much as she had been.

"We need to slow down," he said softly. He felt silly since he'd been the one to push their relationship and now said they needed to slow down. "I mean…I don't want you to…"

She touched his cheek. "I'm not afraid."

If anyone else in the world had given Daemonar the warnings in the past, he would have said screw it and dropped them to the floor right there.

"You have no idea how much I want to throw Protocol and propriety out the window and make love to you right now," he whispered, "but I'd have to answer to the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih for that."

Orian couldn't deny the surge of heat that ran through her when Daemonar started talking, or how quickly that heat died when he mentioned the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih. Daemonar referred to his father as the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih as if they were two separate people, and in a way, they were. There were the little things that Daemonar had done that his father had punished him over, but if he had to stand in front of the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih for judgment, then the punishment would fit the crime and Daemonar would have to pay every bit of the price. As much as Orian wanted this moment, she wasn't going to make Daemonar pay a price for her desires.

Orian took a step back, breaking the intimacy of their contact. "Want to go fly?"

"To the party?"

Orian considered it for a second and then shook her head. She didn't want to be around a lot of people right now. "No, just some cold air to help cool off."

Daemonar grinned and called in a shirt. He yanked it over his head. He'd done enough half-dressed flying for one night. They went to the door and he picked Orian's cloak off its peg, taking a second to put a dry spell on the outside and a warming spell on the inside before putting it around her shoulders. He did the same to his cloak, throwing a warming spell around his feet since he didn't have a spare set of boots vanished. They left the eyrie, and holding hands, launched into the sky.

Orian realized a big difference between Daemonar and Lorivar at that moment. Lorivar knew Protocol and acted by it. But for Daemonar, Protocol was an innate part of his character. It had to be since he'd been taught its code since he'd gotten out of diapers. Lorivar had kissed her first. A barely there kiss, on the limits of acceptable, but not something that someone who lived Protocol would have done. The warming spell on her cloak had been an almost unconscious gesture on his part. It didn't have anything to do with Jewel strength; he'd done the same for Tersa before, but was something proper that a Warlord Prince should do. Lorivar hadn't done it for her when they'd gone walking in the Hall's courtyard.

The differences weren't huge, and not something that should swing the balance in a Queen's decision, not when there were other factors to consider, but for a District like Rolla, a District where Protocol was going to come to mean everything…well, maybe things should be taken into consideration.

But then Daemonar caught her other hand, and they went in a big spiral swinging around each other. She started laughing and the thoughts of Rolla and the future got swept away into the crisp cold air.


	14. Chapter 14

Surprise! The last chapter took forever to write. I couldn't get it right and it went through half a dozen rewrites before I got it the way I liked it. This one poured out in less than three hours and I only had to make a few corrections to finish it off. The funny thing is it wasn't even close to the way that I had planned for things to go, but sometimes characters seem to run off and do their own thing. Or in this case, fly off and do their own thing.

So, a moment to thank everyone who has been reading and reviewing. I love hearing back from readers. This was supposed to have been a much shorter story, but we're heading towards the finish line and I wanted to stop for a second and say thanks to everyone that's sticking it out with me. So, I'll stop babbling now so you guys can get back to Daemonar and Orian who are currently somewhere in the skies near Ebon Rih.

* * *

Daemonar and Orian flew for a while, playing chase me, catch me, sneaking little kisses when one was caught and then flying off again. They played with free-falls towards the tree tops and scared a bunch of birds. They let the air currents catch them and drifted around, not saying anything, but watching the stars above and the lights in villages down below.

After a while, Daemonar caught Orian's hands, and she felt the air become solid under her feet. She grinned. Jaenelle had taught them all to air walk, but Tersa had taken it a step further. Combining air slides and air walking, she had come up with a way to make an air platform high up in the sky. For her, it was more tiring to fly since she didn't have the back and shoulder muscles that an Eyrien did, and would need to take breaks. So, she came up with a way for the air to become solid so that she could sit down. Then she taught Daemonar and Orian how to do it since it was funny to hide way up in the sky, being very still so they weren't as noticeable, and then pelt their siblings with various things. Well, Tersa had made the platform. Daemonar came up with pelting siblings with dead birds that kindred cats brought home.

They were high above the valley, and when the wind quieted and they listened carefully, they could hear the music from the party that they were supposed to have gone to together. She sat down, leaning back on her hands and smiling up at the stars while the music played below. Daemonar sat beside her, wrapping them in a shield with a warming spell on the inside. Within a few minutes it was warm and comfortable in their little bubble of space.

Orian looked at Daemonar, her expression a little more serious now, making his stomach jump. He wasn't sure if he wanted to have a serious discussion right then. Actually, he was hoping for a few more kisses before he took her home and letting serious matters wait for a little while.

"I keep wondering why you changed so suddenly," she said softly. "One minute you're my friend, and the moment someone else sees me, you start acting like…like I was breaking faith."

He took a deep breath, hoping to be able to explain. "Whenever I thought of the future…you were always in it," he said, looking at her. Her puzzled expression said that she had no idea what he meant. "I mean…I've always…"

He blew out the breath. This was going nowhere. "I think I laid claim to you when we were babies," he finally said. "I looked at you and started screaming that you were mine, my baby. And I never thought of anything different. We were always together, and I never thought it could be different. And then Prince Jerk-Wad showed up and suddenly it was like, well, maybe you saw things different than I did. Maybe you saw a life far away, and I wasn't part of it."

She wanted to say that he'd always be part of her life, but she knew what he meant. "I always thought you were teasing about serving in my court," she said. "Everyone expected you to be in Kirian or Tersa's court, so you said you'd be in mine. I never thought that someone like you would mean it."

"Someone like me?" he growled.

She made an exasperated sound. "You're going to walk away from your Offering with the Gray or Ebon-Gray. You're already a dark-Jeweled Eyrien Warlord Prince that's been trained as a warrior by the best in the Realms. You're part of the SaDiablo family, one of the wealthiest aristo families in all the Realms, and probably the most powerful family in all the Realms. You could demand to be the Warlord Prince of your own Territory and probably get it. I'm not aristo, I'm not strong, and honestly, I don't have the normal accomplishments that would give me any hope that someone of your stature might…might…"

"Might what?" he demanded, "Might be so crazy for you that he didn't give a damn about what anyone else's expectations are? I wanted to be with you if you ruled a Territory, a village, or even just our home. I don't care what anyone else thinks I should do or what they expect of me. And before you start whining about accomplishments, you'd best remember that my mother is a simple hearth witch" he said, using his fingers to make quote marks at the words simple hearth witch, "and she's been a loved and valued member of the family since the day she started as the housekeeper." He paused, and then his voice softened. "If everyone in the Realm thinks I've wasted my potential by being with you, it wouldn't matter a bit as long as you saw me as a success."

Orian's mouth opened, to say what, she wasn't sure, but then she felt something deep inside. It was deep, something close to her Self, the core of her that was a Queen. Being a Queen wasn't simply a title, but a part of who she was, and the instincts and abilities that came with being a Queen were innate parts of the core Self. It was that part of her she felt stir, coming to life.

For the first time in her life, she felt that part of her open, moving through her, wanting to reach Daemonar. Carefully, oh so carefully, she focused it, letting that part reach out to him, touching him with that instinctive ability, and the response that she got back, the return made her shudder and gasp.

_Mine_.

"Mine," she gasped. Her golden eyes met his. "You belong to me."

Daemonar had felt that kind of touch before, in other courts with other Queens. In some, it had been a light contact, soft, but quick. In others it had been like a sticky cobweb that tried to stick to his mind and pull him in. Never before had he responded to it, letting it touch and pull him into it. He wasn't sure of the words, but on an instinctive level he knew what it was…a Warlord Prince's surrender to his chosen Queen.

He gave her a lazy smile. "I was hoping you'd figure that out sooner than later." He leaned over and kissed her softly. His hand cupped her face so that it was tilted up towards him. "I love you, Lady," he said softly. "I have since we were kids, and I can't imagine spending my life without you."

Tears filled her gold eyes. The strength of a Queen still sang through her, letting her feel the power and weight of holding someone else's life in her hands. Oh, no wonder Queens could turn evil. If she liked that thrill and reveled in it rather than let it humble her, than she could demand it more, wanting to feel it. But Orian was in awe of the power and feeling, taking thrill in the connection she was feeling more than the power itself.

"You belong to me," she said again. "Daemonar, I don't want you in another Court. I never did. I always thought you belonged to a strong Queen, but you belong to me."

Her arms wrapped around his neck and she pulled him close to her, kissing him passionately. They slid down, and she found herself on top of him, still kissing, touching. She didn't care if everyone in Askavi would call him a fool for serving her. The mere thought of another Queen feeling this deep connection, feeling his surrender to her filled her with dark jealousy. She didn't care if it was Kirian or Tersa. He belonged to her, and by the Darkness, she wasn't letting him go.

When they finally broke apart, Daemonar was a little shocked at the change in Orian, but he wasn't complaining. Her hands were tangled up in his hair, and there was a look that was almost savage in her eyes. He was far stronger, both physically and in Jewels, but the look in her face made him tremble, making him glad he was lying down or he might have fallen. He was flat on his back, a submissive position for Eyrien males, and the woman above him was a stranger for all her familiarity.

Orian wanted to demand that he swear to serve in her court, but she knew it wasn't needed. He'd demanded to serve in her court for years, even when she was the one to say no. The fury that had swept through her at the thought of him serving another Queen was starting to fade, and she looked down at him realizing that there was no need for jealousy. Daemonar was a Warlord Prince, and that drive would be focused on her and her alone for as long as she wanted. And yes, she could admit to herself, that she did want him. More than just physically, she wanted him with her. She wanted him by her side when she began to rule, wanted to be able to fly together and have snowball fights, talk about problems with, wanted him to have a future with, family, friends, life…and love.

Oh yes, the love was there too.

She wanted to tell him all that, but had no idea how to express it. Instead she leaned over and whispered in his ear, "I want to make a request of the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih that you see me through my Virgin Night."

Daemonar slowly sat up, moving her off of him. Even if his mind hadn't fully processed her statement, his body had and having her on top of him was slowly driving him out of his mind. By Protocol, when a witch chose her consort for her Virgin Night, she, or her representative (usually a parent), would approach the Queen, or in this case, the Warlord Prince, whom her chosen consort served, and made the request for the consort's services. The Queen would make the request of the consort so that if he did object, the Queen could come back with the rejection, and usually an alternate suggestion. It was less brutal than the person hearing directly from the consort that she desired that he didn't want her. When the witch and her potential consort were already close, good friends or almost lovers already, it was normal for her to let him know in advance that she was going to make the formal request.

Daemonar looked at her carefully. "Are you sure?" he asked, feeling heat rising up in his cheeks. "I mean, the Darkness knows how much I want to, but I'd understand if you'd want someone…more experienced…for that night only." Daemonar had some experience, it was part of his training to know some about sex and being a good lover, but a witch's Virgin Night was so very important. Daemonar had heard the stories of what happened to a friend of a friend of a friend. The young man was so caught up in his own pleasure, being inexperienced and not realizing that he was pushing his lover too far until he accidently broke her.

Daemonar would rather die than hurt her like that. To strip a witch of her Jeweled strength was a monstrous act that could only be justified if the witch's actions were more monstrous. To break a witch in an accidently frenzy of lust was inexcusable.

Orian smiled. "Yes," she said softly. "My parents have been through every possible consort they could think of, and I wasn't…pleased…with the thought of any of them. And now I know why. I didn't trust them. Oh, I know that any of them would do things right and I would be safe, but the only person who makes me feel safe about that night is you."

Daemonar took her hands, his eyes meeting hers squarely. "I make the Offering four days after Winsol. Do you want to…before?" Before we become further apart in strength was left unspoken.

Her eyes widened. "Um, maybe not that quickly," she said. Heat stained her cheeks. "I don't want to wait too long…but, you know…"

His laughter rang out, full and rich. "Good because between Winsol and planning my Offering celebration, if I told my mother that there was another ceremony to squeeze in unexpectedly, she'd probably kill me." He touched her inner barriers and put in her mind the image of their mothers with another ceremony to plan after the holiday and before his Offering. Both of them exploded with laughter, falling back to the solid air, laughing until their sides ached.

When the laughter subsided into giggles and finally stopped, Daemonar rolled onto his side and ran a finger down Orian's hair. "I got you a Winsol gift," he said almost shyly.

She smiled. "Let me guess, something that's going to leap out of the box and scare me?"

He laughed. "No, actually…a real gift."

She sat up. "Really?"

He sat up too. "Really." He looked a little uncomfortable. "I know it's early, but…" he called in the velvet box. "I want you to have it now." More correctly, he wanted to give it to her in private. Well, instructed to give it to her in private, actually. When Uncle Daemon had told him to, he'd thought it odd, but now understood the intimacy of it.

Orian took the box, and created a touch of witchlight so she could see what was inside when she opened it. The lid sprang open, and Orian gasped at the lovely bracelet lying on the velvet inside. "Oh," she whispered. "Oh, Daemonar, it's beautiful!" She lifted it out of the box, examining it. She opened the clasp and slid it on, closing the clasp and admiring the way it looked on her wrist. She looked up at Daemonar, her eyes shining. "I didn't know you had this good taste in jewelry."

He gave a small shrug. "What can I say, I was inspired." Mostly by a few whacks in the back of the head, but hey, inspiration was inspiration.

Orian hesitated a moment, biting her lower lip, and then decided. "I got you a Winsol gift, too," she said. "A real one."

His eyebrows rose as she called in the box and handed it to him. He smiled and then tore into the wrapping just like he'd always done with her gifts, even knowing that there could be anything from a dead frog to an illusion of dancing ants in the box. He opened the top, and pulled back the covering, and then froze.

For a moment, Orian's heart sank at his expression. He doesn't like it, she thought in dismay as he pulled out the ring setting for his new Jewel. It was in gold, a masculine design, with the words "cherish, protect, and honor" inscribed around where the Jewel would be. Then he looked up at her and she realized that he wasn't unhappy, he was choked up.

"You like it?" she asked hesitantly.

"It's perfect," he replied softly, with such sincerity it made her heart leap. He looked back at the setting. "It's fitting, too. Whatever Jewel that I walk out of the Offering with, I'm going to use it in your service." Their eyes met. "I will use every bit of strength I have to make sure that you are protected, cherished, and honored for as long as you want me."

The words hung between them, so strong that they felt like they had physical weight. Orian opened her mouth, with no idea of what she was about to say and was surprised to hear herself say, "I love you too Daemonar."

His eyes brightened as if a candle had been placed behind each eye. He grinned and leaned over, giving her a sweet kiss. When they pulled apart they were quiet for several long minutes until Daemonar finally said, "We'll tell your parents after Winsol that you want me for your Virgin Night, and if they don't object, we'll formally request permission together from my father before I make the Offering."

She nodded. "I promised to be ready in two months to take Rolla," she said. "Is that enough time for you?"

"My place is by your side. Tomorrow or two months from now. I'll be ready whenever you want me to be."

The thought warmed her and excited her at the same time. She had looked to her Virgin Night as a needed duty that would protect her future. Now the thought of it made her stomach flutter with excitement and desire. She felt of moment of guilt about Lorivar, but he was a strong, good man that would find a woman that had a real connection with him, like what she felt right then with Daemonar. He deserved that.

And then Daemonar's arms enveloped her holding her close to him and all thoughts of Lorivar drained from her mind as she looked up at the stars taking pleasure in being young and being held by her best friend and future lover.


	15. Chapter 15

Dawn was breaking over the horizon, officially ending the Winsol holiday. Lorivar Dastol stood at the window, smiling slightly as he thought of the next few days. He had made all of the arrangements needed for Orian to visit Rolla, and now it was simply a matter of finishing the deal. He would pick her up in the morning and take her to meet Theresa, Rolla's current Queen. Orian would be acceptable. Lorivar had made sure of that. And Theresa was looking forward to her retirement. She had a lovely country home that she wanted to plant a spring garden at. Lorivar had made sure that the other Queens that had been presented all wanted more time before taking Rolla. For a Queen that wanted to retire immediately, it was worth it to take a weaker Queen with a strong Consort in exchange for being relieved from her burdens of ruling as soon as possible.

A noise behind Lorivar made him glance at the bed behind him. The two young whores in his bed were still asleep. He had spent the evening with in Goth, deliberately away from Rolla, celebrating with the girls at the party thrown by a friend and then privately celebrating with them later. They had been a fun diversion for the evening, especially since he was going to have to be on proper behavior once Orian arrived. Fidelity was expected of a Consort, especially at first. Eventually both of them would get bored and take on other lovers. After all, they were Eyrien and would live four or five thousand years. Boredom would set in eventually, and variety would be wanted.

Lorivar looked at the two sleeping women and smiled. He wasn't a fan of virgins. Experienced women knew how to pleasure a man. But one upside is that Orian would be sexually malleable, and be more eager to please. He had no problem teaching her to allow another woman in their bed later. And if she didn't, well, she was young and would want sex, and when he denied it to her, she'd be more…flexible.

Lorivar yawned, stretched, and padded into the shower. Years of planning was finally coming to fruition. There had been a lot of bad turns and problems and so many things could have gone wrong. But he finally had a young, long-lived Queen that was enamored of him and needed and dark-Jeweled male to back her in order to rule. For her to be Eyrien – mostly Eyrien – was a bonus. It was a bit of a problem for Prince Sadi to state he was standing, but in reality it wasn't a problem. After a few months, when she reported that she was being treated well, Dhemlan problems would be more important, and he wouldn't pay attention to her anymore.

Lorivar got into the shower, letting the hot water pour over him as he considered how he had gotten to this point. Ironically, almost everything he had told Orian had been the truth. He'd been prepared to completely reinvent himself in order to gain her trust and respect. His past in Terreille had been fascinating to the girl, and the fact that he had survived the Purge made her trust him. Lorivar had survived the Purge, but never wanted to be in that situation again where a Queen could cost him his Jewels or life.

Lorivar had come to Kaeleer ten years before the Purge. Before that, he'd been a mercenary in Little Terreille. He'd seen the bitch-Queens and the way they'd treated the males that served them. For a Warlord Prince, the drive to serve was strong, but a warrior could overcome those needs. So he did what he could that helped to satisfy that need to serve without being in service. He led a group of mercenaries, a group known for being very quick and quiet and leaving no traces behind, and would work for the bitches against other bitches. Lorivar had figured that eventually the little idiots would kill each other off and the few somewhat decent Queens left might be able to be taught how to rule properly without trying to destroy their males.

He'd only accepted jobs that were against other Queens that were Hallyian puppets. If a Queen hired him for outside Hayll's influence, he would be unavailable. The ruse had worked for centuries until finally one bitch had realized why he refused her contracts over and over, and declared she was going to have him shaved. The Yellow-Jeweled bitch had lived maybe ten minutes after making that declaration, forgetting that he didn't wear a Ring of Obedience like every other male that had ever been around her.

But killing a Queen, even a dumb bitch like this one, would get him executed, so he'd moved to Kaeleer. He'd come to Little Terreille before the service rules had gone into effect, and had been shocked to see the land that was caught between the Old Ways, and the corruption that was bleeding in from Terreille. But enough of the Old Ways existed so that a man could carve a life for himself without worrying about being snatched off the street to be some bitch's amusement for the evening, especially when he wore the Sapphire.

Lorivar had been a relatively wealthy man from his mercenary days, and had invested it well in Kaeleer. He invested in multiple Territories, giving him a valid reason to be able to travel the Realm, and his wealth grew quickly. As the Dark Council decided to start giving unclaimed lands to new arrivals, Lorivar had considered purchasing a claim to land of his own, but had decided not to. There were too many whispers in the other Territories, talk of the future Queen of Ebon Askavi and the creatures known as the kindred. Some instinct had told him that the claims were dangerous, and then Jaenelle Angelline had become Queen of almost all of Kaeleer. Anyone trying to execute a claim given by the Dark Council found themselves executed without hesitation.

And then the Great Purge.

In a matter of minutes the war between the Realms was over. Almost half of the Blood in Little Terreille was simply gone. Many more were broken back to their Birthright or had lost their Jewels and were left with nothing but basic Craft. But Lorivar still had his Sapphire. In seconds, he had gone from a dark-Jeweled Warlord Prince to one of the strongest Blood left in the Territory.

It wasn't long after the Purge that Lorivar began to formulate his plan. He was sick of living under the whim of capricious females. He'd seen too many Queens seem sweet at first and then turn into vicious bitches when the male said no over something. It was time to take charge and get things under his control. He'd started looking for a Queen, but she needed to be the right kind of Queen. Finally, he'd realized what was needed. He needed a Queen he could get control of when she was just old enough to rule, but young enough to need a male to lean on.

His first target was Kirian Yaslana. She was a toddler at the time, but that didn't matter. For the long lived races, waiting a few decades to get what you wanted wasn't a problem. But then the girl received a Green Jewel for her Birthright and had proven to be a wild child. She had been slated to rule Askavi from the moment her strength became obvious. She would have been impossible, and besides, then he would have had to deal with Lucivar Yaslana. He'd known Prince Yaslana in Terreille, had seen him as a slave in various courts. Lorivar did not want a man like that, a man who survived that life, to take a personal interest in his life.

But there was the other Eyrien Queen. He'd dismissed her at first because he'd wanted an aristo Queen, but then after further consideration realized how perfect she was. She was light-Jeweled, and her family was light-Jeweled peasantry. He'd made sure to meet her at a Court and genuinely found her to be a nice girl. Sweet, funny, and pretty enough even though she wasn't fully Eyrien. That was forgivable so long as his sons had wings. And to boot, Orian wanted to leave Askavi and rule somewhere else.

The water in the shower was getting cold so Lorivar twisted the handle to off and toweled himself dry. He went into the kitchen and started making some coffee. He'd kept this loft in Goth as a hidey-hole for when he didn't feel like being on his best behavior and wanted to sample some of the more exotic entertainment that Little Terreille offered. Oh, not that he took advantage of the Red Moon houses that catered to men who liked very young girls, after all, a child had nothing on the lush curves of an adult woman, but where most of Kaeleer would sniff at him having two women, here in Goth it was considered elegant and sophisticated.

The coffee was done and Lorivar poured himself a cup, looking at the leftovers in the cold box. He grabbed a chunk of cheese and ate it while thinking about the next few days. So many years of planning. Years of getting things just right, and planning to have the right Queen in the right place at the right time. Now only a few days separated him from his goals. After meeting with Theresa, Orian would be grateful that he had brought her up to that position. She would also have realized that she needed a strong male to help her deal with the District and the Dark Council. And who else was there but the man that had shown he was painfully attracted to her and wanted to be with her. Even if she wasn't sure about having him be her Consort right now, she would be after he got her through her Virgin Night.

He took a swallow of coffee and wondered if he should have used a compulsion spell. He had planned to use one after he'd taken her to the party to get her to say yes about having him as her consort for her Virgin Night. She was already naturally attracted to him, knew him as a friend, and he was a respectable older male that would be able to perform the duty well. All she needed was a little push. And once he'd shown her what pleasure he could provide, and convince her that he was a superior lover and that no other man could make her body sing like that (she wouldn't know about a bit of help from a tonic that would keep her hungry for him), then she would beg him to be her Consort.

But she had mentioned that she was going to be with Tersa Angelline the next day. Lorivar didn't know the girl personally, but knew that she was a Black Widow and didn't want to chance the girl sensing the spell. When he'd met her the next day, he had thanked the Darkness that he hadn't used it. There was something about that girl that made him want to back away slowly and carefully. A Warlord Prince was a born predator, but something about that girl made him hesitate. Well, that friendship was going to have to be one of the first things to go. Lorivar wasn't going feel like he was walking on eggshells in his own home every time that girl was there.

Her and the boy. She could keep the cat, but he wasn't going to share Orian with young Yaslana. Most Eyrien warriors were barely literate at best, and didn't have the polish needed for dealing with Little Terreille. Lorivar couldn't imagine that Lucivar Yaslana's son would be much different. Lots of brawn and combat ability, but not much finesse. Young Yaslana would never be found acceptable here. And once Orian knew what it was like to be pleasured by a man, Yaslana's boyish kisses and pawings would be pitiful in comparison.

There was more noise from the other room. The girls were waking up. Lorivar smiled. There was time for another romp or two with them before he needed to send them back to their Red Moon house and complete the finishing details for escorting Orian to Rolla. And then in a few days he would have the weak Queen that depended on his strength to maintain her throne. He would be the power behind the Queen, safe and in control. The Dark Council would come to him over Rolla's affairs, and he would control her through her emotional and sexual dependence. Most of the Queens in Little Terreille were short-lived. In years to come, Orian would probably become Queen over a larger District and then a Province. His Districts. His Province.

In time Lorivar would join the Dark Council. He would be Consort to the oldest Queen in the Territory. It would be easy enough to become First Tribune within a decade of joining. After the Purge, the Dark Council had become the ruling party over Little Terreille rather than having a Territory Queen. As First Tribune, he would change that, and of course, he knew which Queen would be selected. And in the end, he would be the ruler of the Territory with his darling figurehead beside him.

Lorivar put the empty coffee cup into the sink and strode into the bedroom. He whipped the sheets back from the bed, making the girls squeal with the sudden rush of cool air on their skin. He grinned at the girls as they giggled, one leaning back and the other getting on her knees. Now this was the way to begin a day.


	16. Chapter 16

Orian leaned back into the coach's seat, getting comfortable for the two hour ride to Rolla from the Hall. Lorivar hadn't seemed surprised at her request to escort her from the Hall rather than her home, but he had seemed surprised, and, she had to admit, more than a little annoyed when he saw her escort. She wasn't sure why. Jaxin wasn't a rival. But then Lorivar was a Warlord Prince, and they did tend to get territorial around another Warlord Prince.

Daemonar had wanted to escort her to Rolla, but Orian had refused. She knew that the people there were going to have to accept her as Queen. If they looked past her to the male that was going to be her Consort and saw his Jewel and his power, then she would never truly be the Queen. She wanted to leave Askavi so she wouldn't have to live somewhere that she felt like less. She certainly wasn't going to move to Little Terreille and feel the same way.

She had told Daemonar all that. And then he snorted and said the sun would shine in Hell before he let her go alone. That had led to an argument so loud and fierce that Prince Yaslana had ended up coming in, slapping an Ebon-gray shield around them, and dragging them outside where, thanks to a system of heated pipes, there was a fountain that ran year round. The water was heated enough to keep it from turning to ice. That didn't mean it wasn't freezing cold when Prince Yaslana had tossed them in without the protection of the shield. When they came up sputtering from the cold he had warned them, very quietly and menacingly, that the family was enjoying a pleasant Winsol, and they would not ruin it for the rest of the family.

Luckily, Jaxin, ever the diplomat, came in and offered a solution. Since Prince Sadi had agreed to stand, and Jaxin was the official liaison to the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, then he would escort Orian. Since he was only an escort, any negotiations would have to be directed to her and not towards him even though he wore a Red Jewel. Daemonar hadn't liked it, but Orian had thought it was perfect. Jaxin would be an escort, but also a subtle reminder of who she could call on if there were problems.

Lorivar wasn't happy. When Orian had come out of SaDiablo Hall, her eyes were bright and cheeks flushed, the way a woman meeting with her beloved should look. But she had yet another Warlord Prince at her side, and he was going to be her escort to Rolla. Lorivar had silently cursed during the introductions – would he never be alone with Orian? – and after kissing her hand, she had settled into her seat, her formal bearing discouraging any further intimacies. Had he known that the only chance he would get to seduce Orian was at the party, he would have used a compulsion spell, made love to her in one of the suites upstairs and been done with this stupid courtship dance. She would have blamed it on being a little tipsy, but been so pleasured she couldn't complain about anything.

Lorivar had considered the young man she was with carefully. He wore the Red, which made him the dominant male in the room, and that was pricking Lorivar's temper as well. And the Red was the boy's Birthright. Even considering his stronger Jeweled power, Lorivar suspected he could take the boy if needed. After all, Lorivar wore the Sapphire and still had his Opal Jewel to fall back on. The Sapphire would drain the Red, and the Opal would finish it off. And then it would be ability versus ability and there was no way this young man would be able to deal with a warrior who had been fighting battles for centuries.

Still, there was no reason for the boy to quietly disappear. He wasn't interested in Orian as a lover, more in a sisterly sort of way. And besides, if Jaxin did come up missing, then Sadi would be the one looking for his son, and if there was one man in the Realms that Lorivar knew to fear, it was Daemon Sadi. Lorivar considered other options instead. The boy was a young man, unattached to a court, and could probably be easily persuaded to let Lorivar take over his escort duties for a while so that the boy could have fun in a Red Moon house. They weren't common outside of Little Terreille, and Lorivar didn't know a man that wouldn't enjoy a bit of relief from a woman that wouldn't make any demands.

*Thank you for escorting me* Orian said on a psychic thread to Jaxin.

*Thank Tersa. She came up with the idea. For some reason, she figured there would be blood all over your new gown if Daemonar came with you.* Jaxin's response was threaded with amusement in order to keep her mood light, but the Warlord Prince in him didn't like Lorivar. He didn't like the possessive tendrils that were leaking off of the man and the way he eyed Orian like a dog guarding a bone. It was the nature to be possessive of the women they gave their lives to, but not where he wanted to keep everyone else from her. If it had been Orian's moontime, it would be understandable; the males around a Queen closed ranks and became highly protective while she was vulnerable. But this man wanted Orian for himself, and not to serve her.

Riding the Red Wind, they would be in Rolla in less than two hours. On the Black, it would take half that time. No matter what happened, Jaxin knew he could keep Orian safe for an hour.

* * *

The long ride to Rolla was cordially tense. Orian knew that Lorivar saw himself as a candidate to be her Consort, and all other males would be seen as a rival. If Jaxin hadn't been there, she would have told him about realizing that she did love Daemonar and wanted him to be her lover. But that wasn't something that she could tell Lorivar in front of another Warlord Prince. It was going to be bad enough to break his heart; she wasn't going to humiliate him as well.

When the coach finally made it to the landing, Orian felt a jolt of nerves run through her. For so long where she was going to rule was speculation, and even when she had accepted Rolla it hadn't seemed real. Now, looking out onto the land that she would be responsible for, it was suddenly real, and no longer belonged to the future, but was part of her present. Her heart was thudding in her chest seeing the trees and buildings. Lorivar had told her that they were going to land at the city rather than the Queen's manor house, and now she was so glad they had. Rolla was a bustling town, and the people seemed well cared for. There was less nature in it than she would have liked to see, but that was something that could be fixed. The Blood needed to be reminded of their connection to the land, and oh, how she wanted to be the one to guide them back to the Old Ways.

Finally they turned up a long drive that went up a hill overlooking the town. Beyond a lovely set of gardens was the Queen's manor house. It was a jewel of a home, large and comfortable-looking with a gorgeous view of the town and surrounding countryside. Orian couldn't wait until she could fly over the land and see it all from the air. My home, she thought with nervous excitement. This is where I am going to live and rule from. This is the home where my children will grow up.

The coach pulled up to the front entrance and stopped. The men exited the coach first, as was proper and then offered their hands to Orian. She laid her hands lightly on their upturned ones, standing between the Lorivar and Jaxin, allowing them to properly escort her up the steps. The moment their feet hit the edge of the marble steps, the doors opened and four footmen exited, flanking the entrance and bowing.

The trio swept into the reception hall where the Queen of Rolla stood with her triangle of males. She was a kind-faced older woman. Orian guessed she was about eighty and understood why she wanted to retire. Her race lived about a hundred years or so. She probably wanted to have her last few years free of the stress and strain of ruling this District. Orian wondered if the Queen had been this excited when she had come here to rule, and Orian wondered if she'd be as happy as the Queen looked when it was time for the next young woman to come here and rule.

Orian dropped hands with the men at her side and stepped forward, her hands out in a formal greeting. The Queen stepped forward as well and took them. "Sister," she said in a low, melodic voice.

"Sister," Orian greeted, with a slight nod of her head. Although they were of equal caste, an Opal Jewel gleamed from the Queen's necklace, and she was still a ruling Queen where Orian was Queen to be.

"I am Theresa Moneta," she said. "Please call me Theresa. And I am so happy to see you here."

"Orian Halliver," she replied. "Orian, please. And I am very excited to be here." She gestured towards her escorts. "You know Prince Lorivar Dastol. My other escort is Prince Jaxin Sadi of Dhemlan."

Something flashed in Theresa's eyes when she named Jaxin. Well, most people knew who he was by name, and whom he represented. If this was what Jaxin experienced, Orian could only imagine what Tersa went through. But Theresa smiled again and introduced her Master of the Guard, First Escort, and Steward.

Orian's breath caught in her throat when she met the Steward, a Summer-Sky Prince named Prince Latten. There was that tug between them, something similar to what she had felt with Daemonar, but muted, softer. But it was still unmistakable. Mine, she thought. She noticed the way his eyes widened a bit, and knew he felt it too, that since of something clicking into place. The desire to serve was being combined with meeting the right female to serve.

The Queen noticed it as well and her smile softened a bit. "Prince Latten's father served as my Steward for many years," she said softly. "He died a year ago. He had trained his son well, and I asked him to serve until the new Queen came." She knew better than to suggest that Orian take him as a Steward, or to press the relationship right then. The bond between a Queen and her triangle was almost as intimate as the bond between the Queen and her Consort. Pushing the relationship in any way could only result in harm.

"I have lunch awaiting us in the main dining room," Theresa said. "I thought we could enjoy a nice meal and talk about the District. I'm sure you have many questions about the land and its people."

Orian grinned. "Oh, I do!" she said, and blushed when some of the others laughed gently at her excitement. It only made the Queen smile wider.

"Oh, it's good to have some youthful energy in here," she declared, leading Orian and her escorts into manor towards the dining room. And nobody understood the deeper meaning to her words when she added, "it's beyond time for your youth and vitality to come to this land."


	17. Chapter 17

Lunch had been a leisurely affair, with delicious foods being served in well-spaced courses so that the group could enjoy a conversation about Rolla, its District and the people that lived there, both Blood and landen. Orian learned that the District's main source of wealth was from being a major trading hub between Little Terreille and the rest of Kaeleer. No wonder I'm the one they want, she thought. With her connections to the rest of the Territories, she would be able to negotiate trade agreements with places that didn't currently trade through Rolla.

"What are the agreements with Dea al Mon?" Orian asked.

Theresa laughed. "You would think that the Territory next to ours would be the largest trade partner, but in truth, the Dea al Mon is one of the most fiercely guarded Territories. There is very little to no trading there."

Orian frowned. She knew that once Queen Gabrielle began ruling, trading had begun between the Territories, but then she realized the difference. Gabrielle was willing to be a little more open with the other Territories that had been under the shadow of Witch. Little Terreille had been shunned. "I'll have to ask Donovan to help change that," Orian said.

Theresa paused, fork in the air. "Donovan?"

"My Master of the Guard to be," Orian said with a little smile. "He's the son of Queen Gabrielle and her Consort, Prince Chaosti. If anyone can help with a trade agreement, he can."

She had expected surprise. She wasn't expecting a blast of cold male anger that rushed towards her. She glanced down the table and could see Lorivar trying to fight back cold rage. And she could see Jaxin move subtly so that Lorivar would have to go through him to get to her.

"Prince," Theresa said so sharply and firmly that every male in the room took notice, even though it was aimed at Lorivar. "I will not tolerate this at my table. Leash yourself or you may withdraw."

"My apologies, Lady," Lorivar said tightly. He looked at Orian. "You're selecting a triangle with no one to assist you?"

Her eyebrows rose. "A Gray-Jeweled Warlord Prince in his prime, a seasoned warrior trained by Lucivar Yaslana himself, and the son of a Territory Queen offers to be my Master of the Guard, and you think I'm going to do better than that? There are some decisions that I will ask advice on, but that was not one of them." Especially when they had both felt that sense of belonging and connection between them. She could feel her own anger rising. And who was he anyway to question her decisions.

Lorivar glanced at Theresa. "Perhaps you should explain more about how the Dark Council oversees the Territory and foreign males that are brought into Little Terreille."

Theresa smiled, and there was a gentle malevolence in her smile. "Under normal circumstances the Dark Council must approve a male coming into the Territory in order to be part of a Court. But I've negotiated the contract myself. Since the new Queen is foreign herself, she is allowed to bring two males for her triangle from any other Territory. The third side must be a native."

She looked at Orian. "A Gray-Jeweled Warlord Prince of the Dea al Mon. My dear, that is a wonderful Master of the Guard. How did you ever convince him to come with you?"

Orian glanced at Lorivar wondering what the matter with him was. Mother Night, every consort she knew wanted their Queens to have a strong triangle. "Lady Gabrielle was at SaDiablo Hall for Winsol," she finally said. "Her family came this year. Donovan is the Warlord Prince of a town in Dea al Mon, but he's ready for a change." She wisely left out describing the connection that they had felt. Oh, she had known him for a long time, and always liked him as a person, but Orian knew she was different now. She was a Queen searching to fill her court and that was allowing her to see people in a different light. "His wife is a Green Jeweled Healer, trained in both humans and kindred. We all talked during the Winsol party and they agreed to come here as Master of the Guard and court Healer."

Theresa looked at Jaxin. "Will you be joining Orian's Court?"

Jaxin gave her a charming smile. "No. I'll continue being liaison to Dhemlan until Tersa's ready to set up her Court at Ebon Askavi. I told her I'd be her First Escort if she didn't have a Consort."

Theresa gave Orian a look that was almost cautious. "I have to ask, how are you associated with Dhemlan and Tersa Angelline?" She gave Jaxin a smile before looking back at Orian. "I have to confess, I was a little taken aback to see Prince Sadi as your escort today."

Orian shot Lorivar a sharp look. Hadn't he told the Theresa anything? She had thought that her connections were why they wanted her as a Queen. They didn't know anything about who she had grown up with. She looked at Theresa, grateful for all the lessons on keeping her tone steady as befitting a Queen.

"Tersa and I have been best friends since we were very little," Orian said. "I met her cousin, Daemonar Yaslana when we were toddlers and when Tersa came along, the we were always playing together. The three of us have been the best of friends since then."

Jaxin let out a laugh. "And you were the only one that could get Daemonar to listen. Remember when he decided not to go to school anymore?"

Orian giggled. "It took hours before they realized that the shields were threaded in the wood, keeping the teachers locked in the school and the students locked out. The High Lord had to come and undo it because Daemonar had done it to him once. Prince Yaslana had to hide Daemonar in the mountains for like three days."

Jaxin laughed and then took note of his lunch companions' expressions. "Me, Daemonar, Tersa and Kirian were all in the same school," he explained. "And Daemonar was taking a lot of grief from the other Eyrien boys his age, saying he was becoming prissy and girly."

"Education isn't always a priority in Eyrien society," Orian broke in. "Most warriors know very basic reading and writing. To spend time with books is a waste of time. Females tend to read more, but it's sneered at as a womanly indulgence." She smiled at Lorivar. "Luckily not all males feel that way, and some actually value the importance of a good education."

Jaxin made an exasperated noise. "I still don't see how anyone would think the High Lord would let his grandson be uneducated, but anyways, Daemonar finally had enough teasing and put his heels down and decided he didn't need any more formal education. He'd read half of the library at the Keep at any rate, and didn't think there was anything the teachers knew that the library hadn't already taught him.

"Finally my father came up with a solution. He had Orian transferred to our school, and told Daemonar that as a Warlord Prince it was his duty to escort the Queen to her classes, and be her escort and protector. So he finally stopped making trouble in class…"

"Stopped?" Orian broke in, "What about the hamster?"

Jaxin shot her a dark look. "You weren't there before. Trust me, he behaved as best he could after you came."

Orian shook her head and smiled. "The best part for me is that I got to attend Protocol lessons with Tersa, Jaxin, Daemonar and Kirian. The High Lord was teaching it to us at the Keep."

Theresa sucked in a breath. "The High Lord of Hell taught you Protocol?"

"Of course," Orian replied. "He's a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince that's served two Black-Jeweled Queens. I can't think of anyone else more qualified to teach the Old Ways of Protocol than the man who has lived them for more than 50,000 years."

She saw the way Theresa was looking at her, the way her gaze had changed. She was no longer seeing a light Jeweled Queen, but a well-connected young Queen who was very close to the strongest family in Kaeleer. Theresa glanced at her Steward and touched his arm, and Orian knew they had communicated briefly on a psychic thread, but she wasn't sure if it was good or bad.

Her Steward rose from the table. "If the Ladies will excuse me, I would like to take my leave." He looked at Orian. "I will have the paperwork showing the District in more detail ready for you in half an hour. Will that be acceptable?"

"Yes," Orian said. "I would be pleased to see it."

The Steward left and Theresa smiled at Orian. "May I interest you in a walk? I would like to show you the Queen's suite in the family wing."

"Of course," Orian said, and she and Jaxin stood.

Thersa looked at Jaxin, her smile faltering a bit. "If you don't mind," she said. "The Queen's suite is a private place."

Lorivar had stood as well. "Not to the triangle," he said.

Theresa eyed him coolly. "You don't wear the Consort's ring, Prince."

The slash of male fury caught Orian again and she turned on Lorivar. "Prince," she said evenly. "I wish to have a private conversation with the Queen of Rolla. If you consider the Queen's home a danger, I will yield and stay under the protection of my escorts."

Lorivar knew he couldn't insult the Queen like that. "Prince Sadi was most concerned about your safety," he said. "He's still bothered by some minor incident that occurred in Little Terreille decades ago. I promised that I would make sure you were protected every moment you were here."

"No need to worry," Jaxin said with a disarming smile. He took Orian's hand and slipped a ring on her finger. The ring was a simple circle with a crystal at the top. The crystal was roughly cut with a dark, dark speck in the center."

Orian gave Jaxin a sharp look. "What's this?"

"My mother knew you'd need some quiet time with the Queen," he said. "So she made this for you and told me to give it to you if you wanted to be alone for a minute. The center is a tiny chip of a Black Jewel that Dad gave her. You'll be able to contact me on a psychic thread no matter what shielding is around you."

Orian knew that Jaxin had a similar crystal hidden on him, and he would know in a second if Orian was in danger or injured. "Thank you," she said and turned to Lorivar. "Does this satisfy you?"

"Of course, darling," Lorivar replied. "Enjoy your walk with the Queen." He turned and stormed into one of the other rooms.

Orian sighed. She had no idea what had gotten into him. Maybe it was Jaxin. Maybe it would be better for Jaxin to take a separate conveyance home so she could talk to Lorivar privately. Maybe she should make her whole First Circle Warlords so that she didn't have to work around the temperament of a Warlord Prince, because one was exhausting and she couldn't imagine what having six or eight would be like.

"Don't worry," Theresa said, breaking Orian from her thoughts. "I've been handling males for many more years than you. They all have their moods. Best to let him storm about a bit and then he'll be the dear man you know again."

Orian smiled. "Of course," she said. "Now, how do we get to the Queen's suite?"


	18. Chapter 18

The Queen's suite was lovely, a tastefully decorated set of rooms that still held the little touches of Theresa's personality. It was a little "girly" for Orian's taste, and she already knew that she would have to redecorate it to suit her own personality. The Consort's suite next door had been stripped down, and the furniture covered. Theresa had explained that her Consort and husband had died several years before and Theresa had decided that no other man would live in those rooms while she was Queen. Her First Escort had bedroom and sitting room of his own in another part of the manor house, and although it wasn't said, Orian understood that the First Escort was the Dark Council's choice, and not someone that Theresa really wanted in her home.

They ended up on a balcony overlooking the snowy gardens below. Warming spells in the floor and coming off of the back wall kept the balcony from being freezing so they were able to sit outside comfortably. Theresa explained that the front gardens that her people could see were changed with the seasons so that they were always showing some kind of vegetation. She had enjoyed seeing her private garden here as the seasons changed. Different plants were more prevalent during different months. The evergreens that blended with the rest of the plants during the summer now stood starkly against the white snow. It was a soothing landscape and Orian could see herself on this balcony for years to come.

"I sat here many afternoons and watched my children and grandchildren playing," Theresa said softly. I would have paperwork to do and I would work on it here, feeling the land while the children played chase me, find me and all sorts of little games they would invent on the spot."

Orian smiled softly, thinking of the future. "Yes, I can see how this would be the place to raise children." She turned to the older Queen. "What's so difficult that you need to show me the good of this place before you can tell me?"

Theresa's smile was soft and sad. "I began ruling here when I was barely twenty years old. I knew what Little Terreille was becoming and I wanted to do my best to hold back a flood that I knew in my heart I was powerless against. And just when it was to the point of being too late, a storm of power changed everything. I'm a light Jeweled Opal Queen. I was one of the weaker Queens here. And suddenly I was the strongest one left. Think about it for a moment. Almost all of the Queens were gone. Almost half the Blood had gone, so many others broken. It was a terrible, frightening time."

She sighed, a sound that came from very deep inside. "The Dark Council was supposed to have control over the Territory for a short time until a new Queen could be selected. Somewhere along the way, they forgot they were the temporary power. And we survivors, young, terrified, allowed it to happen."

She patted Orian's hand. "It's not all bad. The Territory was so much better after. It didn't heal right, but there was healing. I met a wonderful man that became my Consort and husband. I raised my children here, and wouldn't trade my life for anything. I tried my best to rule with honor and by Protocol. And I think I succeeded."

"But there is a danger gathering. A taint that I am simply not strong enough anymore to withstand. I knew that a younger, stronger Queen was needed. I began searching for a replacement. I was required by law to inform the Dark Council. A few days later the Council came to me and let me know that I no longer had to search. They had found a Queen, and I could retire as soon as this spring."

Orian frowned. This wasn't how she had heard the story. "I would have fought," Theresa continued, "but I visited with my daughter. She's a Black Widow that lives in Dharo. And she told me…" Theresa hesitated, trying to decide how much Orian needed to hear. "She told me that a young foreign Queen would be presented to me. Many would see weakness. I had to look beyond a Jewel and see the power behind her. The Council would approve her not seeing her strength. But if I would allow it, would give my support, she would be able to hold back a taint with her own inner fire and the strength of her triangle."

Theresa looked back onto her garden, her face serene. "And now I see a foreign Queen, trained in Protocol by the High Lord himself, who already has a Gray Jeweled Master of the Guard and a Sapphire Jeweled Consort, and protected by…"

"What kind of Consort?" Orian interrupted.

Theresa looked confused. "Lorivar, dear. He wears the Sapphire."

Fury rolled off of Orian. "He told you he was my Consort?" she snarled. Theresa didn't have to answer. Orian could see it in her face. She leapt to her feet and stormed out of the Queen's suite, tearing back towards the reception rooms where the object of her fury would be. She only got down a few halls before Jaxin turned the corner, running towards her. She felt the Red shields wrapping around her as he came to a halt, his whole face a question as he opened his mouth to ask what was wrong.

She didn't slow down a step, just gave him a snarl and continued storming down the halls until she tore into the reception room and drew up short, her eyes snapping fire at Lorivar.

"Who in the name of Hell do you think you are?" she hissed at him. "How dare you tell anyone here that you're my Consort? The Warlord Prince of Dhemlan himself witnessed that I did not accept you into my service. _Witch_ witnessed it."

Lorivar stood, his smile placating and condescending all at once. "Darling, who else is there?" he asked gently. "You cannot rule here without a strong Consort, and you do want an Eyrien lover, don't you? The Dark Council will simply not allow you to have such a prominent District without real power. And darling, as wonderful as you are, you will always be a light-Jeweled Queen."

The temperature in the room dropped, ice forming around Orian's feet. "No male has the right to force himself into a Queen's bed," she growled. "If the Dark Council forces me to, then that makes them complaisant to rape." She stared at him for a long, cold moment. "And I really, really, don't think the Council wants me to go to Daemon Sadi with an accusation of rape or even attempted rape."

Lorivar took two fast steps towards her and slammed into a Red shield. He blinked and suddenly Jaxin was standing between him and Orian.

And the cold started to burn.

Jaxin spared a glance at Orian to be sure of where she was, and Orian's eyes widened, feeling herself getting knocked away from the cold rage that had engulfed her. Jaxin's eyes. Those sapphire eyes. Oh, Mother Night, it wasn't just Tersa that had inherited her parents' power. Or temper.

"You won't touch her," Jaxin said too softly. "Draw the line Prince, and I'll meet you at it myself. But you will never lay hands on a Queen. Especially to force her to your bed."

Lorivar sneered. "I don't fight little boys."

His words were condescending. But his eyes said how close he was towards the killing edge. And how confident he was that he could destroy the young man in front of him. But there was no fear or hesitation coming from Jaxin. Only a swirl of dark power that was far too close to the surface. And suddenly Orian knew where his confidence was coming from.

She knew about the Ebony rings. They had almost achieved almost mythical proportions over the years. They were the rings that could only be worn by the ones they were made for, with shields stronger than the Black. Oh no wonder Prince Sadi ever feared for his son to run the length and breadth of Kaeleer without guards. Witch had made the rings; Witch could make her husband's ring accept her son as well as its wearer.

And they were seconds from a bloodbath.

"Prince Sadi, Prince Dastol!" The Queen's voice rang out strong and firm. "I will not allow my Court to be destroyed like this. Not now. I ask that you withdraw. I ask that you separate without battle." Her voice softened. "I need your assistance if there is to be a Court left for Orian."

A Queen calling to a Warlord Prince's instincts and desires to serve. And although not a motion was made, Orian could feel both men pull back just a bit from the killing edge.

Lorivar gave Orian a cold look. "You may think you have another option for a Consort, but I assure you that boy will not be acceptable here. I'll give you a few days to consider your options. You can think like a girl and let a childish crush ruin you, or behave like a Queen and do what's best for the people you want to rule." He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

Orian put her hand on Jaxin's shoulder. That contact, between Queen and Warlord Prince helped to ground him, pull him back from a temper that could destroy the home they were in and every person in it. "Thank you, Prince," she said softly. He wasn't _hers_, would never be, but he would always be her friend, a brother of sorts.

"I'm taking you home now," Jaxin said, struggling to keep his calm, to stay away from that cold glittering rage that beckoned so sweetly. But this would be Orian's home and he wouldn't take it from her.

Orian glanced at Theresa. She was milk-pale. "Send the contract to my father's home," Orian said and the turned back to Jaxin. "It's time to leave," she said to him.

Within minutes they were in the SaDiablo coach and riding the Red Wind home.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Okay, so I know the action in the last couple of chapters has been slow, and honestly, I've been a little annoyed with some of my characters. The carriage scene and luncheon was supposed to be all one chapter, but everyone got to talking and things started to get long. But I appreciate everyone that has held on. We're down to the last few chapters of the story and my thanks to everyone who has been reading, reviewing, and enjoying the story.

To answer a couple of things. Lorivar isn't really evil. He's been badly scarred by his life in Terreille, and he's never really adapted to Kaeleer. Little Terreille isn't exactly the place to learn that there are good Queens and what the proper male/female interactions should be. I suspect Lucivar would be a lot like him had he not had Jaenelle, or the idea of her, to hold on to for so long. Also, the reason Surreal hasn't been involved is because I really don't have a place for her in this story. I don't like bringing in characters for the sake of them showing up. It just seems stilted and awkward when someone shows up without a valid reason, although it can be assumed she is there for the big gatherings, even if she's not mentioned.

So, again, my thanks to everyone who has stuck with the story thus far. Happy reading!

* * *

The Keep normally looked ominous, a mountain of black stone weighted by the millennia that it had been in existence. It was the repository of the Blood, the Sanctuary of Witch, and the lair of the great Prince of the Dragons and his mate whom had sacrificed her dragon form to give the gift of magic to the human races. If it seemed dark and mysterious at noon, seeing it at night should be frightening to all who approached.

But not on this night.

Tonight was a night of celebration. Everyone had napped that afternoon to prepare for the long vigil, and then enjoyed a celebration dinner in the Keep's massive dining room. After a few toasts, and some good natured ribbing, they would adjourn to the waiting rooms while Draca escorted Daemonar into the Sanctuary where he could make his Offering to the Darkness. The whole family had gathered, along with extended family and friends from all over the Realm, both human and kindred alike. Daemonar had originally planned to make his Offering at SaDiablo Hall, but after the guest list grew to include not only dozens of humans, but also the Fyreborn dragons, half a dozen unicorns, Darkguide's entire pride, and the wolf pack from the North Woods, the celebration was moved to the Keep.

And there was much to celebrate. Orian's parents had been thrilled that Daemonar would be her Consort when she left. Although they were a little worried about him seeing her through her Virgin Night, they decided not to protest. He might not be that skilled, but they were willing to believe his promises that he would see her to the other side safely. The Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih was a bit blunter. He thought about their formal request for a long moment, and then gave a gentle admonition that if his only son hurt Orian; he would personally twist Daemonar's cock off. When Daemonar stepped to the line and agreed, knowing that his father wasn't exaggerating or bluffing, Lucivar gave his formal consent as well.

Orian had sat across from Daemonar during the dinner feast and every time he gave her one of those little knowing looks, it had sent a hot sizzle through her, knowing that it would only be a couple of weeks before they had her Virgin Night ceremony. And then she would make her Offering and they would be off to Rolla. More excited butterflies because she had already won her first battle with the Dark Council.

Within a day of arriving home, she had received a letter from the Council informing her that since she was to be a District Queen, and they were the ruling body of the Territory, she was expected to obey as she would a Territory Queen. Their choice for her Consort was Lorivar Dastol. After all, she was very young, and although her expected Consort would be dark-Jeweled, he simply didn't have the experience, wisdom, or accomplishments needed in order to properly assist and guide his Queen. Orian knew why they hadn't simply told her not to come back. When they had selected her as Queen, Theresa had forced a few concessions, namely, if Orian accepted being Queen, and then the Council rejected her, then it would be the Council who paid the damages specified in the contract, and not Rolla. After meeting with Orian, Theresa had made a small change to the contract. Since Rolla's major source of income was trade, and Orian's personal presence would increase trade dramatically to places currently closed to Little Terreille, losing her would have a significant financial impact on the District. Based on that, Theresa increased the damages that would be awarded upon rejection to ten times the original amount, enough to ruin more than one member of the Council when they had to put in their fair share.

Orian wanted to rule Rolla, knew she was needed there, but she would not allow herself to be controlled by the Council. If she gave in once, she would never truly be Queen there ever again. So she wrote back that they were right, and she appreciated their insight. As a young Queen, she did need the guidance of a strong male that was older and wiser. So she had decided to appoint a male that would negotiate on her behalf and she would abide by what that man decided what was best.

She then finished the letter by saying the Prince S.D. SaDiablo, High Lord of Hell, would be attending his grandson's Offering to the Darkness, and would it be acceptable for him to come the following week in order to act as her negotiator? If they wanted someone sooner, she would appoint Prince Daemon Sadi, Warlord Prince of Dhemlan as her negotiator. After all, these were the two oldest, strongest, wisest men she knew, and that was what the Council wanted, right?

That morning she had received another letter from the Council. The tone was much different this time. She had misunderstood, of course. They would never force a Queen to take a particular Consort, but they wanted her to know their suggestion. After all, the Consort's five year contract was nothing to a long lived race. Since the Council was made up of short-race individuals, sometimes it was hard to remember that. And naturally, they understood what it was like to love for the first time, so of course Prince Yaslana would be welcome as her first Consort. However, they would ask that after his contract was served, she would reconsider Prince Dastol.

The sun would shine in Hell first, she had thought, but had penned her reply that morning, and after Lady Angelline had read and approved it, sent it with a courier to Little Terreille. Of course, she would look at any consort they suggested, as long as the final decision was hers. After all, it was unthinkable that anyone would force a male into a female's bed, no matter what caste or Jewel he or she wore. But since they were the governing body of the Territory, she would listen to their advice and suggestions and take them into consideration when she made decisions on ruling her District. She considered herself very lucky to have a strong Council to aid her; along with wonderful friends like the SaDiablo family who were all determined that Orian would be a good Queen to her people.

The letter had been sent, and then Orian had turned her mind to the festivities that night. Although the Blood made Offerings every day, this was the first time a member of the SaDiablo-Sadi-Yaslana clan had made an Offering since Jaenelle, and this time there was none of the frightened urgency or the worry associated with her Offering. So the family was making a party out of it. After the vigil, Daemonar would come out the next morning with his new Jewels and everyone would go to their rooms in the Keep and rest. Another large party, with roughly half of Kaeleer invited, would be that night. Orian had spent the rest of her morning at the Keep helping Lady Yaslana and Helene to decorate and prepare for the big event.

But now the sun was sinking lower in the sky. The family had finished their dinner and adjourned to the large sitting room where they would all wait for Daemonar. He had protested, of course, that a vigil wasn't needed. He would fine and they didn't have to be up all night waiting for him. The number of people present showed exactly what they thought of his protests.

Somewhere deep inside the Keep a gong rang out, instantly silencing the group. Draca appeared in a doorway. "It iss time," she said, her ancient eyes focusing on Daemonar.

By Protocol, his parents were allowed to escort him with Draca to the Sanctuary where he would be left alone to make his Offering. Daemonar took a deep breath, trying to quiet the sudden rush of nerves. He had been trained on how to perform the ceremony and been told what to expect. But this was real, and after tonight, things would be different forever. He'd been told what to expect, but he'd also heard the whispered stories of people who had been driven mad by the Offering, and had broken themselves during the ceremony.

But the doorway and hall behind it were a battleground, and he was too much his father's son to walk away from a battleground. Especially now when he had a Queen that he had sworn to use his new Jewels to protect, cherish and honor.

Marian and Lucivar linked arms with their son and quietly walked with him through the door, following Draca down, down, deeper into the Keep. There were no windows here to tell the time, only a barely perceptibly pulsing of power latent in every stone of this part of the Keep. This was one of the oldest parts, directly above Lorn's lair, and although a fitting place for Daemonar to make his Offering, it was still intimidating as hell.

They didn't speak until Draca turned the last corner and they were standing in front of the large stone archway that opened into the Sanctuary. Daemonar turned and hugged his father. There were tears of pride in his father's eyes and Daemonar smiled at him. Then he turned to his mother who had tears openly running down her face. He hugged her and she clung to him for a long moment.

"I'll be fine," he whispered.

"I know," Marian said. "I'm just seeing my baby grow up." She sniffed, stepped back, and wiped her cheeks, giving Daemonar a brilliant smile. "May the Darkness embrace you, Prince."

Daemonar stepped back, gave his parents a brave smile, and then turned and walked through the archway.

The altar was on the far left side of the room so that it couldn't be seen from the archway. Daemonar went to the alter and knelt in front of it until the sounds of footsteps were gone and he knew that he was alone in the complete darkness. He knelt quietly, clearing his mind of doubts and fears. He was Prince Daemonar Yaslana, grandson of the High Lord, descended from Andulvar Yaslana, and there was no enemy he would refuse to meet, no righteous challenge that he would cower from. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring setting that Orian had given him, slipping it on his finger. He would succeed in his Offering not for his ancestors, but for the Queen he had sworn to serve.

A single black candle flickered to life. Sunset.

Daemonar took a breath, gathered his courage, and began the rituals to make the Offering to the Darkness.

* * *

Hours had passed since Daemonar had gone into the Sanctuary and Orian was fighting the urge to pace again. The last two times she had started, the High Lord had chucked her out into the garden. She would have protested much longer and louder except that a few minutes later, Prince Yaslana, who had also been pacing, was tossed out into the snow as well. After the second time, Orian had decided trying to sit still was better than freezing her ass off.

She'd sat with Kirian and Tillian for a while at first, and been amused as Kirian grilled her little sister on the boy that Tillian had met at Kalush's court. Tillian had been seen out at a dining house with the same boy not once, but twice. Kirian wanted all the details. Orian could afford to be amused. She only had brothers. As long as the male around their sister had good intentions, they didn't want details. After a while of listening to Kirian and Tillian bicker, Orian had started pacing for the second time, and again found herself tossed into the garden.

Which wasn't fair since the High Lord was pacing in the comfort and warmth of the waiting room.

When she went back in the second time, she'd sat on the floor by Darkguide and, calling in a grooming brush, began brushing the cat's fur. It gave her some outlet for the fretful energy, and the cat's warm purring was soothing. Darkguide's little brother, a kitten barely out of the den, had plopped himself beside Orian, snuggling beside her and announced he was next for a brushing. Their sire and dam were close by, both pleased by the interaction of the winged Queen and their offspring. They were worried about Darkguide being so far from home, but the little Queen would protect and care for her while she finished growing. And they had to wonder if their little Warlord would follow his sister and join the little Queen's court when he was grown.

As midnight approached, Dorian asked her daughter where Daemonar's Offering gift was. She wanted to show it to one of the other Eyrien ladies there. Orian went to call it in, and then jumped up with a muttered curse. "Oh damn and blast," she snarled. She could see the basket on her bed that she had forgotten to vanish before she'd left home. It was tradition for a Queen to give an Offering gift to a male that had already committed to be in her service, usually a basket of treats or a small sack of gold coins. It was symbolic that he was putting his strength in her service and she would provide for his needs.

Dorian smiled. "It's not the end of the world, dear," she said. "Your brothers can go..."

"No," Orian said. "I left it, I'll go get it."

There was an immediate feeling of male agitation roll through the room. She wanted to roll her eyes. There were times that being a Queen really, really sucked.

"No," Endar said quietly. "The Keep is shielded right now from psychic influences. Nobody could hear you if you need help."

"Papa," she groaned. "It's not like I haven't gone from the Keep to home about a million times."

*We can go together.* Darkguide said. *I can keep the little Queen safe.*

Dorian touched her husband's arm and Orian thought they were on a tight psychic communication. Her mother understood. Orian needed to get out and do something rather than thinking about Daemonar. She didn't want another male with her right now. And Darkguide was nearly 400 pounds of a witch's temper with nasty teeth and claws, and an Opal Jewel to boot.

Endar nodded. "If Lady Darkguide doesn't mind keeping you company..."

The cat got to her feet. *Do not worry. We will come back soon.*

They left the Keep quickly before any of the other males thought to protest. After all, it was a short trip on the Winds that they had ridden countless times. Although she had to admit she was looking forward to getting a darker Jewel so that she could ride a Wind faster than the Rose. It would be nice to get places quicker.

When they arrived at her house, she ran inside to her room where the basket was sitting on the bed. She vanished it quickly and left her room. Orian paused in the hallway, frowning. Something was different. Something was wrong. She wasn't even aware of shielding herself as she walked into the living room and stopped up short, her breath catching in her throat with a gasp.

Lorivar was standing in the doorway of her home, his face twisted with rage.

"You bitch," he snarled, holding up a piece of paper. "You filthy whoring bitch."


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Sorry about the delay! Between work and Christmas, things have been absolutely crazy for me the last couple of weeks! But the good news is that I have the next week off of work and the reservations for New Year's Eve have been made, so I actually have time to write over the next few days. Life is good. Except for doing laundry tomorrow. Other than that, good life all around.

And we're off to the story…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Daemonar opened his eyes in pitch blackness. He was falling fast, buffeted by a sharp wind as he fell faster and faster. For a moment, he was confused; he had just been in the Sanctuary...

Memory flooded back and his father's words rolled through his mind. "It's disconcerting," Lucivar had said. "One minute you're at the Altar and the next, dropped into the abyss. You have to catch yourself quick." Disconcerting, my ass, Daemonar thought as he automatically flicked out his wings to slow and control the fall. His father hadn't mentioned that he'd light the last candle and then poof, he'd be somewhere in the abyss, dropping like a stone.

Daemonar stabilized, and then used Craft to bring himself to a stop. Yes, this was the rest of the ritual. He would now descend into the abyss as far as he could, crossing through the layers of boundaries that made up each layer of Jeweled strength. He sent out a psychic tendril, trying to gauge where he was. His eyes widened as his senses told him he was already at the Purple-Dusk. How long had he been falling? He wondered if the lighter-Jeweled Blood fell slower, or were quicker. No wonder people could be broken during the Offering. If he had hit his inner web during that free fall, he would have shattered it, breaking his power and his mind at the same time.

Daemonar blew out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and began a slow, steady descent. He could feel pressure from the abyss, but it wasn't difficult or painful. As a matter of fact, as he passed the Green, it was lighter than it had been before. He kept the slow and easy drop and realized that he was finally at the level of the Sapphire. He looked around. It was dark, but not that dark. My inner web, he thought. Is it further down than before? Or will I not see it? How will I know how far to go?

He grinned. Had his father seen the grin, he would have demanded to know what Daemonar had done, who he had done it to, and what were the damages. This time, nothing was damaged yet. Daemonar's grin held every bit of his Eyrien arrogance and self-confidence. Screw the rule about dropping only three levels. Daemonar knew he was at his best when he was breaking the rules, and what the hell, it would be fun to dance on the Black web.

With a twist of his wings, Daemonar turned downward and began dropping down deeper into the abyss.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Orian swallowed hard when she saw the paper Lorivar was holding. It was her stationary. My letter, she thought. The council informed him that he wasn't going to be my Consort. She had expected him to be upset. But this was so far beyond mere anger, it was terrifying to see. She gathered herself up, hoping he couldn't see how bad she was shaking.

"Prince Dastol," she said formally, "I do not wish to be your lover. I ask that you withdraw your claims and leave."

Lorivar laughed. There was something so desolate and nearly insane in his laugh that she shuddered.

"Protocol," he spat. "You think after one little bitch ruins decades of planning, that I give a damn about Protocol?"

Orian blinked. She wasn't sure how to respond to that, but there was a rush of sadness and pity for him. "Lorivar," she said, "you're a wonderful man with amazing credentials. The only reason you're not a Consort is because you haven't said before that you wanted to be one. Once the other Queens know that's your ambition, you'll get plenty of offers and…"

His laugh cut her off. And oh, the savage gleam as his eyes started to glaze. "You think I give a damn about being some bitch's Consort?" he snarled. "I've spent decades planning to take Rolla and no light-Jeweled little slut is going to steal it out from under me."

Orian tried to send out a psychic communication, but a Sapphire shield was tight over the eyrie. A thought hit her. "Darkguide," she whispered. "What did you do to Darkguide?"

Lorivar snorted. "Oh, I didn't kill your kitty," he said. "I just slapped a shield around her so we could have a private talk." He tried to smile, but it came out ghastly. "See, I can be nice when I want to be. I would have been good to you as your Consort," he continued. "You would have had luxury, kept your kitty, Hell's Fire, kids if you wanted a few brats. I would have let you have the world."

It was starting to dawn on Orian. She had been taught a lot of lessons on being a Queen over the years, and some of the most serious were on how people would try to use her. The taint had been cleaned from the Blood, but there was still ambition and greed in almost every human soul that could make some try to reach further than they could or should.

"You wanted to rule Rolla through me," she said flatly. "Use your stronger Jeweled strength to become dominant until I was just your mouthpiece."

He was staring at her in a way that was unnerving. It was too still, too quiet.

"Yes," he said softly. "Although that shouldn't mean I don't like you. You're a sweet girl. And I suppose I am sorry for what has to come next. But you brought this on yourself, you little bitch. I gave you the chance to make the right choice. I handed you Rolla on a silver plate, and I'll be damned if I don't get what's rightfully mine."

He took a step closer, his eyes fully glazed and malevolent. It took every ounce of willpower for Orian to not shrink back. To try and run excite the predator instinct and she'd be dead in a second. "You want me to give up Rolla?" she asked.

"No, darling," he said. "I have a better idea. Yes, a note saying we talked. And you've known that you wanted to be with me, but were afraid to insult the Yaslana family. But you can't deny it and have gone with your heart. Gone to Little Terreille where you'll be safe from their retribution."

He nodded. "Yes," he whispered, more to himself than anyone. "Yes, that's a perfect letter."

She shook her head, eyes gleaming in fury. "I won't write it," she snarled. "You can't make me." And wouldn't he be surprised when he tried to use a compulsion spell. Tersa's Winsol gift to her was an amazing charm on the necklace Orian now wore, which held a tangled web. Let anyone try to use a compulsion spell on Orian and the web would awake and turn the spell back onto the caster.

"Oh, you will," he said, too gently, approaching carefully. "After all, my darling, a broken witch is a compliant witch."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Deep in the abyss Daemonar paused in his descent. There was a strange buzzing far away. It was like hearing a beehive way off in the distance. None of his preparation for making the Offering had mentioned this. Was it normal? Did it mean he'd reached his limit?

He hesitated, tasting the air around him. He was deep in the abyss. As he'd gone deeper, he'd realized that the layers for each Jewel were much, much thicker than the ones above it. He was pretty sure he was judging correctly and was currently deep in the Gray. The pressure of the abyss was starting to build, but it was far from uncomfortable. He'd slowed his descent to give himself more time to become accustomed to the pressure and that had helped. But it wasn't making the buzzing go away.

There was something about it that was fraying on his nerves and temper. He knew that he needed to fully concentrate on his Offering, but the buzzing was really getting agitating, like he was supposed to be somewhere else. He frowned. The only place he needed to be was here. After all, everyone he cared about was at the Keep, and there was no place in all the Realms that had the defenses that the Keep did.

Daemonar began his descent again, still aware of the aggravating buzzing. His hand was unconsciously flexed, ready to be filled in with a warblade in half a breath if needed. No, nothing should be able to get to him in the Keep, but that didn't make him any less his father's son when it came to being vigilant about an attack, or ignoring intuition. He continued dropping deeper and deeper into the abyss with senses alert and ready to cross to the killing edge in a second if needed.


	21. Chapter 21

Darkguide slammed her paw against the Sapphire shield holding her down and snarled in fury as her claws bounced off of it. She cursed herself for not being inside when her little queen needed her. But the kindred were expected to take care of their bodily needs outside. At least she had been well-shielded when she was peeing or else the blast of Sapphire power that had come from the sky would have killed her immediately. The bastard had been well above the treetops, hovering for the Darkness knows how long, knowing that the wind up there would have kept his scent from reaching the cat.

Instead it had slammed her into the ground, hard enough to break her shield and stun her badly. He'd landed beside her, slapping a Sapphire shield around her so that she couldn't even get up. She had immediately reached out to Orian, but there was a psychic shield around the physical one, and she was still too stunned to fight it.

"I could kill you right now," the stupid meat said almost conversationally, kneeling beside her. "But if you're with her, then it's going to look a lot more believable. But trust me kitty, one wrong move from you, and I'll blast you into nothing." He added more power to the shield and then gone inside, putting a physical shield around the eyrie as he entered.

Darkguide let her body relax in the snow. She was of the line of Kaelas, and all from his bloodline had special talents and abilities. She couldn't pass through any shield, but she had other abilities that she hadn't revealed to everyone. When she was a small kitten, barely weaned, she'd been taken to The Strange One, dam of the Lady's mate. The old woman had held her, petted her, and the kitten had known instinctively this was not a human that should not be bitten or scratched.

Finally, The Strange One had called the little kitten Darkguide, and told her that she would soon know of her special abilities. Tell nobody of these abilities until it was time to use them to save a life to save a Queen and stop a corruption. Now Darkguide understood why. If that bad meat had known what she could do, then he would have killed her right then and there. But now she had a chance…and Orian had a chance.

Darkguide didn't waste time or strength blasting the shield with power from her Opal Jewel. She might have been able to break it down, but it would have drained her to do it, and she wasn't sure how much of her strength was going to be needed to do what needed to be done. Instead she gathered her strength and let her mind flow through the psychic shield around her. She couldn't physically pass through a shield, but there was no psychic shielding that had ever kept her out.

In the abyss she could see a bright spot close by. Orian. The little queen was still alive, still ready to fight. That was good. But then Darkguide saw something new, something different. It was like a silver thread coming from the queen, and going down deep into the abyss. A connection. Everyone was at the Keep. The Keep might be too shielded to break through, but this connection was already in place, already piercing through the shielding. Without hesitating she let her mind follow that thread. It hit a powerful buffeting, something ancient and powerful trying to keep her out, but she pressed hard and was through, chasing down to the end of that connection and to the person that could help the Queen.

* * *

At the Keep, Tersa found herself ordered into the garden when she started pacing. She wasn't upset. She wanted to be alone in the cold to think. She scooped up Butter and Scotch, putting them in her coat pockets so their little paws wouldn't freeze in the snow. A light warming spell filled her pockets and the puppies made little contented sounds before falling asleep.

Something was wrong. Something felt off, but nobody else was feeling it. If there was a problem, wouldn't her father or grandfather feel it? They were much stronger than she was. Geoffrey was more in tune with the Keep than anyone but Draca and he didn't seem like anything else was wrong. Even her mother seemed okay, and if anyone could sense something, it should be Witch.

It wasn't something on a web plucking at her, it was odder than that. Maybe that's it, she thought. Everyone in there lies on a web. Even Mother, although she dances on them all. You lie between the webs, with power on one, and connection to another. Her power was like that too. Although she wore the Red, she could reach deeper and touch onto power that she had no business being able to feel. So far, the only solid manifestation of that was being able to ride the Black Wind, but still, it made her feel as though she didn't belong to the Red Jewel rank, but somewhere betwixt and between.

So she paced outside with the small comforting bundles in her pockets, trying to decide if she should let someone know that she felt like something was wrong, or if it was just her own nerves. She thought about checking on Orian, but she was probably heading back to the Keep now, and the psychic shielding kept Tersa from sending a psychic thread to her friend.

Some deep instinct told her to stay in the garden. She wasn't sure why, or for how long since it was freezing out there, but something said she needed to be where she was, and so for now, she paced with the sleepy little puppy-protectors by her sides.

* * *

Orian stood still for a breath, too shocked at Lorivar's words to move, and then self-preservation kicked in. She feinted to the left, and then tore to the right, trying to get up the stairs. Lorivar would have shielded the entire front of the eyrie, but she knew an air vent in the back. It was too tight for a man to climb, but with Craft, she could get up it in a second.

Her fingers brushed the doorknob when a hand grabbed her wing and yanked her back in the room. She felt the shield go around the living room, locking her in. Panic set in and suddenly everything in the living room was in the air pummeling Lorivar as he forced Orian to the ground. He got a hand locked around her throat and slammed her head into the floor. Instantly everything in flight stopped and dropped to the floor as Orian's head sang and the room swam about her.

She tried to scratch at his eyes, but he managed to get her hands pinned over her head as he used his legs to shove hers apart. He paused, his eyes blazing into hers so terrifying that Orian stopped struggling for a moment.

"You're getting broken tonight, and that's all there is to it," he snarled. "I can beat you half to death or you can just let it happen. It's your choice how bad it's going to be."

She whimpered. It was the only sound she could make when she felt her trousers and his vanish. He smiled - a look of sheer malevolence. She could feel him get ready, pulling back a little.

He thrust forward as hard as he could, slamming his cock into her double-shielded groin.

Lorivar howled. He had hit her hard enough to break through one layer of shields, and hitting sensitive skin that hard hurt as bad as a full kick to the balls. He instinctively let go of her hands with one of his to grab himself, and Orian took the advantage. She called in a stiletto, swinging it up as hard and fast as she could.

If Lorivar had been anyone other than a trained warrior, he wouldn't have been able to move fast enough and the stiletto would have been buried in his chest. Instead he pulled back at the last second and the tip of the knife sliced across his chest and buried itself in his upper arm. He yelled again, and Orian tried to blast him with a bolt of her Rose power, but he had partially shielded in time. The blast of power pushed him off of her, but didn't do any damage.

Orian didn't waste time to scramble off the floor, leaping across the room to get distance between them. She snatched a tablecloth and wrapped it around herself, almost without thought. She was more shocked at the move Surreal had taught, one of the many anti-rape moves and countermoves that Surreal had drilled with the girls over and over had not only worked, but been pretty damn successful against a dark-Jeweled Eyrien Warlord Prince. Surreal had said that men were dumb and didn't shield right when they were about to spear a female. Apparently, she knew what she was talking about.

Lorivar stood slowly, slapping a tight shield across his chest and around his arm as he drew the stiletto out of it. He looked at the knife and then at her, as if slowly considering. Again, that half-mad smile.

"Even broken you're going to be a miserable bitch, aren't you?" he said too softly. "Oh well. I wanted an Eyrien. I'll settle for some Dhemlan bitch. As a matter of fact, I already know a Summer-Sky Dhemlan Queen that would love to have Rolla. She thinks she's too good for the village she has now. But this time I'll make it clear that I will be her Consort if she wants the District."

Orian paled as he called in his warblade. She knew how to use a warblade, had been taught by Prince Yaslana himself, and could put a lot of Eyrien males on the ground that hadn't been trained under Yaslana.

But Lorivar had over a thousand years of ability with a warblade. Even beyond that, when the Sapphire met the Rose in combat, there could be only one winner. Orian knew she would fight, and fight damn hard. But in a second, he would lose control and charge. She'd call in her warblade and fight like a Harpy for her life.

And she knew, without any doubt, that she was going to die.


	22. Chapter 22

Deep in the abyss, Daemonar paused again at the buzzing. It was really pissing him off and if it was any other occasion than his Offering, he'd come out of the abyss and find out what in the name of Hell was going on. He started down again, wondering how far he was going to go. He knew an Offering always took between sunset and sunrise, well, except for once, but he felt like he'd been in the abyss for days and there was no end in sight. There was still the building of pressure, but it wasn't uncomfortable, much less painful. He had plenty to go before he was going to have to fight through to get any deeper. He thought he was still in the Gray, but the power felt darker than that. Felt more like his father than Surreal.

That perked him up a little as he kept descending. Maybe he was on the border between Gray and Ebon-Gray. He smiled. His father was the only Ebon-Gray male in all three Realms, the first in centuries, if not millennia. Daemonar had hoped he would wear the Ebon-Gray, but had reminded himself about a million times in the last week or so that wearing the Gray would make him plenty strong enough to take care of Orian, and he was not going to be disappointed if he walked out of his offering with "only" the Gray. After all, there were only a small handful of people in Kaeleer that wore the Gray, and none in Terreille.

Daemonar kept dropping, and then suddenly paused, every muscle on alert. The wind said something was coming. Something big and fast and dangerous. Logic said that he was safe here, his body was in the Sanctuary, and his mind was wrapped in the Keep's powerful shielding, but Daemonar had been taught to never ignore instinct. His hands itched to hold a warblade. Maybe there was some kind of challenge that couldn't be spoken of by adult Blood before the Offering Jewel could be given.

And that was when a very familiar mind slammed into him, knocking him tumbling into the Darkness. Daemonar knew that mind, felt it grab and connect with him in a heartbeat as he righted himself.

*Darkguide?* He couldn't get the shock out of his mental tone.

*The little queen!* The cat's call was distant and static, like she was fighting to stay. She probably was fighting to hold through the shielding around the Keep. Daemonar didn't have time to wonder how in the name of Hell she had managed to reach him in the first place.

*The stupid meat is hurting the little Queen!*

There was no confusion or wonder or any room for the slightest emotion. Daemonar was thrown to the killing edge in an eye blink. Ice filled his mind and soul and there was only the need, no, the unrelenting lust for the kill as cold rage flowed sweet and deadly through him.

*Catch the thread.* Darkguide, sensing the change from human to predator in Daemonar. *I can pull you to her on the darkest Wind.*

If Daemonar had been the slightest bit rational, he would have thought that impossible, but at that moment, his only thought, only concern was to reach Orian. He turned to launch himself upward, have to get back to the body, get back to _her_. A power stopped him, something strong, firm. Resolute.

Daemonar turned, snarling at whatever held him. There was only darkness and the sickening realization that he was still descending.

*You cannot leave.* A strong, deep male's voice rolled through his head. For a second he thought it was his grandfather and then caught the sibilance.

*Let me go Lorn!* He yelled, struggling against the power that held him. *I have to get to her.*

*There iss a price for leaving that only you can pay.*

*Take the damn Offering Jewel! Take the Sapphire! Break me, I don't care, but I will get to her!*

There was a sad sigh. *Sso be it.*

Daemonar was tired of playing with Lorn. He gathered himself, and his feet hit something solid. Air platform, he thought, realizing he must have made one without thinking, and then launched himself up as hard as he could.

In the Sanctuary, Daemonar's eyes opened and he barely caught himself from flying backwards as his mind slammed back into his body. He glanced down. Still had a glowing Sapphire around his neck. Nothing on the altar. So be it, he thought, still filled with that icy, deadly rage. He could still feel Darkguide's presence. She was like a bright spot against a black backdrop, and suddenly he understood. He was seeing her through the Black Wind that ran through here.

She said she could guide him and he didn't hesitate. He jumped, reaching for the thread that was glowing between him and the white spot in the distance, and felt himself get sucked in to the Black Wind.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Orian had heard Prince Falonar's admonition a million times. If she trained under Yaslana until _he_ said she was acceptable, then she would be able to take down anyone but an Eyrien warrior. And she would be able to take half of them as well. When Lorivar charged her, she called in the blade that she had spent years working with, meeting his charge and deflecting it. Before her mind could react, she hiked a knee into his stomach hard enough to break a rib.

But he was wrapped in Sapphire shields and her knee just pushed him away a little. They met, clashed, separated, and clashed again. Hours and hours of training under Prince Yaslana had made so many of these movements into muscle memory, but Orian knew that she wasn't winning. Lorivar still had that half-smile. He was playing with her. Whenever he wanted, he would use his Sapphire Jewel and tear her apart with bolts of power from it.

It was that smile that hardened something in her. You might win, she thought, but damn you, I'm taking pieces of you with me. She didn't wait for him to attack again, but went on a berserker offense of blows that had knocked even her older brother over a few times. And there was a second of triumph when she felt him have to strengthen his shields, her blows actually hitting with enough force to drain them.

Just a drop, but that was the point. Defend until a male could reach her. When he countered and began slamming blows at her, she used her smaller size and faster speed to dodge and duck as much as she could. One hit would shatter her shields and she would drain her Jewel rapidly if she kept making new shields.

She'd been gone a while. Someone should have noticed by now. Someone would come, just to check on her.

But he knew that too.

Lorivar attacked, feinted, and then, assisted with his Sapphire power, slammed his warblade against hers, shattering the wood easily. His eyes met hers.

"I'm sorry, darling," he said softly. "But the hour grows late, and it's time for me to go. I wish things could have ended differently." He raised his blade, now coated with the Sapphire power needed to shear through her shields and flesh. Orian could see her own face with huge eyes reflected in the metal as Lorivar pulled the warblade back for the killing blow.

* * *

The moment Daemonar pulled into the Black Wind he knew he'd made a mistake. The Wind was faster, wilder than he could have ever expected, and it didn't want him there. It tore at him, trying to toss him out into the Darkness. He could feel it cutting his wings, the air slicing him from a speed that he couldn't shield against, couldn't control. It took all of his strength and power to hold onto Darkguide's thread, and he sensed she was draining her Opal Jewel to hold him in the Wind and not let him get knocked into oblivion.

In the first few seconds, he was almost tossed out. He wasn't sure how he stabilized, but he managed to at least keep from being lost in the Darkness. The Wind buffeted him again, tossing him like a bug in a hurricane. He felt himself losing his grip on Darkguide's thread and fought to clutch at it again, but the reality of it was turning to gossamer.

No, he yelled mentally, fighting with every thing in him to stay in the Black Wind, fighting to hold the thread. I'm losing it! Sweet Darkness, help me!

His fingers slipped again, and then suddenly he was slammed with another blast, but this one didn't fight him. He was suddenly able to catch the thread and hold onto it stronger than before. The Black Wind was still hurtling him with little control or finesse, but the new power was keeping it from throwing him out, keeping him focused on where he was trying to get to.

Coated in this new power bleeding into him, he charged forward towards Orian.

* * *

It was Butter that reached Daemon first.

*Help Tersa!* The little puppy howled. *Tersa needs her sire! Tersa is in the garden!*

Scotch got there and both dogs managed to make enough noise that half the Keep could have heard them, barking, howling, and yelling that their queen needed her sire.

Daemon had learned that when kindred raised an alarm, it was never to be taken lightly. He raced down the hall and into the cold garden, probing for his daughter. For a second his heart stopped as he saw her crumbed onto the sidewalk, and then he was on his knees scooping her up.

The Red Jewels in her ring and necklace were glowing as she poured their strength into…into nothing that he could tell.

*Papa…* Her mental tone was strained as she fought to…to do whatever she was doing and still talk. She was biting her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, and he fists were balled against her chest, the long sharp nails stabbing into the soft flesh of her hands.

*Papa…can't hold him…need the Black…"

Daemon opened himself without hesitation or reservation. *Take what you need.* His Black power circled and cradled Tersa giving her body the strength and power to do whatever her mind needed.

Tersa took the offered Black power and fed it through her, sending it out to Daemonar. She had felt him the moment he'd jumped to the Black Wind, and knew that the Wind would toss him out in a second. She'd sent her power, but it wasn't enough. Not even close. But her father's strength was dark and powerful and she fed it smoothly through her and cradled it around Daemonar, protecting him against the worst of the Black Wind.

Connected with his daughter, Daemon could feel what she was doing, and saw Daemonar on the Wind.

*Prick!* His shout on a spear thread could only be heard on the Ebon-Gray, but the power that flowed through it was enough to make every Blood male for miles jump and look around uneasily.

Lucivar was already in the garden, running to them with weapons drawn. *Get to Orian's.* Daemon ordered. *Daemonar left his Offering to get to her.*

Lucivar was there for a second, and then disappeared as he leapt to the Ebon-Gray Wind.

Tersa suddenly sagged against Daemon. "Too late…" she whispered, and then fainted.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: I actually thought this chapter would be a lot longer, but I wanted it to end where it did, and we got there pretty quick. I know, shocking, me getting somewhere quick, but it does happen, especially with fight scenes. I suck at describing a fight scene blow by blow, so crank up some good fighting music and use your imagination on what the fight would have looked like blow by blow.

Thank you for all of the reviews you've sent. I've loved having everyone along with me for this ride. We're coming up around the last corner to the end (one more chapter and an epilogue to go) and it's gratifying to see that so many readers have been holding on, patiently (or not so patiently) waiting for the next chapter. I actually expect the rest of the story to be done by the end of the week (especially if it ices or snows Friday – snow in Florida – what the hell is going on with that?) or next week at the latest. And there are more story ideas in this version of the BJT, so we'll see how things go after this one is done.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Orian felt Sapphire shields pin her in the corner as Lorivar's war blade came back. She screamed, unable to stop herself, knowing that her Rose shields would only slow the Sapphire-enhanced blade as it came down through her body.

And that was when the door to her home exploded inward. Orian ducked as the debris flew around her. She glanced up and her jaw dropped.

Daemonar was there. He looked like he'd been through one hell of a fight, but he was there. His face had red marks, ones that you knew were going to swell and bruise soon, and his wings were slashed in half a dozen places, all running with blood. His clothes were torn and many of the rips were edged red with blood. For the moment he stood there, one could say he seemed calm but for those glazed gold eyes. Then the rage broke and with an Eyrien war cry splitting the air, he launched himself at Lorivar, war blade in hand.

The shields around Orian fell as Lorivar took the first hit from Daemonar. She scrambled to get out of their way as they clashed, blades flashing, Sapphire Jewels pulsing. She felt a Sapphire shield wrap around her and could feel Daemonar's power and protection in that shield. Orian had seen Daemonar in practice before, but had never seen him on a battlefield. The times he had jerked to the killing edge before were nothing compared to this. He moved like lightning, his wounds not seeming to slow him down at all as he was caught up in the cold rage of this battle. Lorivar was a powerful warrior, meeting every blow, reversing, changing, fighting back, but he had to work at it as they tore through the living room, destroying the room while the weapons were clanging and smashing.

Orian knew better than to try and get in the middle of the fight. She'd been taught too well for that. But she knew what she could do. She waited until Lorivar had his back to her and then hit him with several rapid bolts of power from her Rose Jewel. It wasn't strong enough to break his shields, but every hit weakened his shield just a bit. He was going to have to drain more power to keep them up. She knew she didn't have a lot of power left in her Rose, but as she jumped to the side, got a clear shot, and hit him again, she saw that he felt that hit. It was a momentary distraction, and he recovered barely in time to keep Daemonar's blade from slicing through his neck. She silently cheered and started trying to get into another position to keep hitting him.

Lorivar had a moment to think, you stupid bastard, you gave up your Offering for this bitch, when Daemonar had attacked. He hadn't expected the boy to this good of a fighter, and he was struggling to keep up, even with the boy already injured. If they were on equal footing, he knew he would be a dead man. But the boy had used a lot of his Jeweled power to get this far, and Lorivar still had his Birthright Opal in reserve. Even in the heat of battle, he knew he didn't have much time. The boy's strength was depleted, but if Lucivar Yaslana showed up, and he probably would soon, Lorivar knew he'd be dead in a second. He needed to get out of here.

Another blast of power hit him from behind. The girl. The damn girl. She couldn't break his shields, but these little hits were adding up quickly and he was having to waste precious energy and concentration repairing his shields with every hit. Time to distract the boy and take care of her. He might not be able to kill the boy, but if the bitch was dead, Lorivar could jump to the winds and be safe in Little Terreille before the SaDiablo family could catch him.

He called in his Opal ring as he feinted to the right, and clashed with Daemonar, using the momentum to swing them so that Lorivar could see Orian. He pushed Daemonar back, and in that second, sent out a blast of power from both his Sapphire necklace and Opal ring. The combined effect was enough to shatter the Sapphire shield around her and throw her into the wall. She cried out as her head hit the plaster, and then slumped down, unconscious.

Daemonar roared in rage, moving like lightning and throwing himself in front of Orian so that the second blast of Sapphire and Opal power hit him full in the chest instead of killing Orian. The double blast of power broke his shield, knocking him off balance and dazing him. Lorivar cursed viciously. A blast like that should have killed the little bastard, but he saw the advantage and pressed it immediately, his war blade coming down for a killing blow.

Daemonar knew he'd let himself become vulnerable the second he took the blast meant to kill Orian, but he couldn't have stopped himself even if he had thought about what he was doing. Protect the Queen. That was so much an intrinsic part of his nature that he would have jumped in between the blast and Orian even if he had thought about it. But the world seemed to be moving in slow motion after he took that powerful hit from Dastol. He saw the blade coming up and stumbled back, throwing up his left arm to ward off the blow.

A blast of power. Dark, cold, almost solid in its strength exploded outward from Daemonar. He hadn't braced for it, and it threw his backward, slamming him into the wall. His vision swam. It cleared a second later and he could only gape at what was in front of him. Lorivar was standing, all shields shattered, and a hole clear through his chest. Lorivar gasped, made an inarticulate sound, and then collapsed to the floor. He twitched once, twice, and died.

Daemonar slid down the wall, slumping next to Orian. He pulled her to him and with the last of his Jeweled strength, shielded them both. He was spent, knowing another drop of power would shatter the Sapphire. It was getting harder to breathe, and he thought Dastol's blast probably broke a couple of ribs. He was still bleeding from the many cuts inflicted by the Black Wind and the world seemed to be narrowing into a tighter and tighter tunnel. Every breath hurt, and if an enemy came in now, he knew he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Orian stirred and groaned. She lifted her head. Her eyes were glazed from the hit, but she was moving. Daemonar smiled faintly. Whatever happened, he'd saved his Queen. "Daemonar?" she said, but her voice was far away, distant. He could barely hear anything over the sound of his own labored breathing and painful heartbeat. His eyes closed. Everything had a price. And whatever he had to pay as his blood pooled underneath them, it was worth it knowing he had saved his Queen.

Daemonar could feel himself sliding towards unconsciousness from trauma and blood loss when he felt the shield around him break and get replaced with a net of soft, dark power. For most people that feel of power leaping about, jumping from strength to strength would have been frightening and disconcerting, but he knew that feel and it was comforting because only Aunt Jaenelle could feel like that. Another layer of dark power wrapped around him, filling him with its dark strength, making breathing easier and his heart not beat so painfully. He recognized his father's strength in that second layer, just as he could recognize the other layers that quickly wrapped around him, each one feeding into the healing web that Jaenelle was weaving around him. Uncle Daemon, Granddad, his mother, even Kirian.

"Orian", he whispered. "Take care of her..." Even those few words were almost too much for him.

"Don't tell the Healer how to heal," Aunt Jaenelle said snippily. "Orian is being attended to. She's just fine."

Daemonar wanted to reach out and contact Orian, just to know for sure for himself. But it was like he was being pulled down a dark tunnel with his family's collective strength keeping him down. A cool hand touched his forehead and he forced his eyes open, staring directly into Witch's sapphire eyes. "Stop fighting the healing web," she said. "You both will be fine. Karla and Tillian are with Orian right now. But you need to rest now."

Comforted by Witch's promise, Daemonar surrendered to the healing web, letting himself sink into merciful oblivion.


	24. Chapter 24

Daemonar's whole body ached as he slowly woke up. Open curtains showed a night sky, and he recognized the room as one of the Keep's guest rooms. He made an internal check of his body, wondering how bad it was. Things were tender, and there was still healing going on under the surface, especially his ribs, but no damage was permanent.

"Welcome back," his father said in a low voice that normally was the start of lecture…or worse.

Daemonar slowly turned his head. He saw the lines of exhaustion on his father's face and wondered how long he'd been in the healing web. "Dad," he said, his voice rusty. "I'm sorry. But I..."

Lucivar put his hand on his son's shoulder. "You saved your Queen. There's nothing to apologize for, son." He gave him a hard look. "But next time, let the family know so that we go in together for the battle." Daemonar smiled weakly, a smile that dimmed as his uncle came in.

"Good, your little beast didn't die," Daemon said with menacing cheer. "So when do we take him out back and start beating him?"

"Before you beat me, where's Orian?" Daemonar asked.

"She's been resting," Daemon answered. "She had a mild concussion and some scrapes and bruises. She put up one hell of a fight so he wasn't able to harm her further. Karla kept her down in a healing web for a day." He hesitated and glanced at his brother. "You've been down for three days."

Daemonar's eyes widened and he gasped. "Dastol..." He looked at his father. "Dad, did you finish the kill?"

He'd never seen his father look so grim before. "No, I didn't," Lucivar said quietly. "The High Lord made sure Dastol made the transition to demon-dead. And all debts were paid in full." Daemonar swallowed hard. His father almost always referred to Granddad as Father or Saetan, but when he called him the High Lord, it meant Granddad's temper had slipped its leash and they had been reminded that he was still a sharp and deadly weapon beneath his exterior as the benevolent family patriarch. Then he thought of Dastol standing over Orian with his war blade ready for the killing blow and was filled with a savage pleasure knowing every bit of pain and fear that he'd caused Orian had been accounted for.

Daemon saw the emotion play over his nephew's face and knew he was satisfied with the punishment the High Lord had dealt. But for the first time, he'd seen Saetan execute one of the demon-dead. He knew Saetan had been pushed to his utmost in cruelty because his grandson was involved, but what he had done…it was almost magnificent in its viciousness. As the Sadist he knew thousands of ways to hurt someone. He could destroy a body in ways that would make someone beg for death. But what the High Lord did to that bastard's mind before releasing him to the final death had been a display of skill that had been terrifying and impressive.

Daemonar leaned forward to try and get up. "I want to see Orian…" he started to say when a hit of Black power neatly slapped him back into his bed. He tried to reach out with his mind, but there was a Black psychic shield around the room.

"Oh no," Daemon said pleasantly. "You're not going to get out of that bed until Jaenelle says you're well enough for you and I to have a little chat about how you nearly caused Tersa to shatter the Red saving your ass."

"Bastard…" Lucivar growled.

"Prick?" Daemonar replied mildly.

"Boys." Daemonar couldn't help but feel some relief when his grandfather's voice rolled through the room. He of all people would understand why he'd acted so rashly to save his queen.

"If you want to beat the boy, you'd better do it now while Marian's asleep," Saetan said to Daemon. Marian had been by the boy's bed for two days straight until she'd been hit with a sleep spell so that she could get some rest. "If not, you'll have to discuss it with her."

Daemonar noticed his father flinch a tiny bit. He had to bite back a smile. His father was one of the most powerful Blood in all the Realms, a warrior with the Darkness knew how many battles under his belt, but a light-Jeweled hearth with could make him flinch with a simple glare. And Daemon knew that dealing with Marian would mean dealing with Jaenelle, and he didn't like to deal with Jaenelle in that way. And then what Uncle Daemon said hit him.

"Tersa helped me on the Black Wind," he said, remembering that balancing power that had kept him in the Wind. "I would have been thrown out and lost to the Darkness, but something helped balance me." The consequences of what could have happened to Tersa sank in and squashed any thoughts of trying the Black wind ever again.

"My apologies, Uncle," he said softly. "I was so focused on getting to Orian, I didn't realize it was hurting Tersa. Whatever price she requires, I'll pay it."

Daemon glared at his nephew. The damn boy had never been contrite a day in his life, and now that he was in the mood to beat the little beast senseless, he actually came up with a good apology.

"Tersa already said that she was glad to be able to help save her friend," Saetan said pointedly. "If Daemonar hadn't been pulled into the Black Wind, he would never have reached Orian in time."

"I was almost too late," Daemonar said. He looked at his father. "If you hadn't blasted him with the Ebon-gray, he would have won." The immediate confusion on the faces of the three men startled Daemonar. Daemonar remembered that blast of dark power. He had thought about it. It wasn't his, so he must have been thrown by the blow back from the explosion of power that hit Lorivar. If it wasn't his father, than who was it?

Saetan asked carefully, "Where were you in the abyss when you left the Offering?"

Daemonar thought about it. It almost seemed hazy and unreal now. "Deep into the Gray," he finally said, "I think I was close to Ebon-Gray, but I'm not sure. When I tried to leave, Lorn stopped me. He told me that everything has a price." Daemonar looked at them almost defiantly. "I wasn't going to let that bastard hurt her. I told him that he could have the Offering Jewel, so Lorn let me leave." He felt a pang of nervousness as the three men exchanged a glance. "What is it?" he demanded.

"Son," Lucivar said, "look at your hands." Daemonar looked down carefully, worried about what he was going to see. His Sapphire ring was still on his right hand. But on his left…on his left…

The empty ring setting he had put on his left hand as a good-luck token now held a Jewel. It was a cut Jewel; smaller than his Sapphire, but it was a Jewel nonetheless. He touched it, feeling its strength and power.

Ebon-gray. He was wearing the Ebon-gray.

"I…I don't understand," he said softly. "Lorn said…"

"Lorn said there was a price," Saetan interrupted. "And you paid it. He and I spoke. He pulled you down the last bit to your inner web in the Ebon-gray, and so you could receive the Jewel. But you didn't stay in the abyss for the entire time and weren't able to absorb the fullness of your power." He looked at his grandson with sorrow. "Lorn said you had an enormous amount of power you could have held. At least as much as Lucivar. But by leaving you weren't able to take it in. This was the best he could do."

Daemonar smiled. He looked at his male relatives with absolutely no regret. "I thought I had lost my Offering Jewel," he said. "I would have given up the Sapphire if it meant saving Orian. It doesn't matter how strong this Jewel is. With it, I'll be the strongest Blood in Little Terreille and nobody will be able to ever get to Orian and hurt her again."

There seemed to be a release of tension as he said that. Like the men had expected him to mourn for the loss of power. Well, first, it was hard to mourn for something you never had in the first place, and second, he was wearing an Ebon-gray ring. He didn't care if his father was still stronger. He didn't care that it was a cut Jewel and everyone else had uncut Jewels. It was the Ebon-gray and that was beyond awesome!

Saetan was staring at the ring and lifted his grandson's had to get a better view. "Can you feel the Jewel's old wearer?" he asked. A cut Jewel meant it had been worn by someone else in the past, and usually still held some of the residual psychic impressions of the past wearers.

Daemonar concentrated, but the sensations from the ring weren't what he thought they should be like. The ring felt…familiar…but that was the way a Jewel should feel if you've bonded with it. Although this was odd because he'd been too busy being unconscious to really bond with the Jewel. He shook his head. "No, sir," he replied.

Daemon and Lucivar could both tell from their father's expression that he was thinking of something, but neither was prepared when his thumbnail jabbed into his finger, letting three drops of blood splash onto the ring. "And the Blood shall sing to the Blood," he said. "And in the Blood."

The blood on the ring turned into mist. The mist swirled, coalesced, and finally formed a face. Daemonar stared at the man's face. It was vaguely familiar, like he'd seen the man only in passing, or maybe just a long time ago. He glanced up, startled to see a shine of tears in his father's eyes. He glanced at Saetan, but his gold eyes were glistening and a single tear rolled down his cheek. Uncle Daemon wasn't in tears, but he did look suitably impressed.

"Andulvar," Saetan said in a whisper as the mist faded into nothing. "You were gifted with Andulvar's Jewel." Lorn had told him he'd done the best he could do. You did, my old friend, Saetan thought. Oh Andulvar, you would be proud of the boy right now.

Daemonar stared at the ring on his finger, understanding why it meant so much to his family. He had very vague memories of the man who was legend among his race, but he had heard the tales of Andulvar's exploits since childhood, and he knew that Granddad and the Demon Prince had been the best of friends, almost brothers, until the day came that the dead anchored the living in order to clean the taint from the Blood. To wear Andulvar's Jewel was something that could never be taken for granted, and Daemonar knew that as long as he wore this Jewel, he would have a constant reminder of what it meant to be a true Warlord Prince of the Blood.

There was a long moment of silence in respect for the man who had returned to the Darkness. Then Jaenelle quietly spoke up from the doorway. "I think it's time for me to see my patient," she said. That seemed to break the moment and the men backed away from the bed so that Jaenelle could get a good look at Daemonar. She came into the room and gave Lucivar a slashing look.

"Marian knows you're the one that put the sleep spell on her," she said as she began to examine Daemonar.

Lucivar visibly winced. Marian had been by Daemonar's bed for two days straight and finally he couldn't stand seeing her suffering anymore so he'd put a mild sleep spell on her so that she would get some rest. "Does she know you approved it?" he asked, trying for menacing. She gave him a smile that reminded him of all the stunts that had gotten him an ass-kicking from her Steward and Master of the Guard.

"Of course not," she replied cheerfully. "You cast it, you deal with it." She looked back at Daemonar, giving him a hard look. "Speaking of dealing with your messes, I've been thinking long and hard about what your actions did to Tersa."

Suddenly Daemonar really, really wished he had another Healer. "I've decided," She said conversationally, "that you're going to take care of her, by yourself, during her next moontime." That didn't sound so bad to Daemonar. He'd taken care of his mother and sisters before. He thought about it. He'd never really been around Tersa during hers. Then he caught the little satisfied smirk on Uncle Daemon's face. His heart sank.

*Is she that bad?* he asked Saetan on a psychic thread.

*Witch's temper and the Sadist's creativity,* came the response. It wasn't exactly comforting, especially when Uncle Daemon's smile widened a bit more.

"Of course Butter and Scotch will be there," he said. He smiled at his wife. "Darling, I can't think of anything more appropriate." And he meant it, seeing the look on Daemonar's face. It was hard enough for a Warlord Prince to take care of a snarling witch. The only thing that made it more impossible was to have two tiny Warlord Princes at her side, also fussing, and you get the brunt of all three of them.

Daemonar closed his eyes and leaned back onto the pillows. Whatever Jaenelle was doing to him was easing the pain and making him relax as dark, soft power rose up from below him, cradling around his body. She rested a hand on his forehead and then glanced at the other males in the room. "As his Healer, it's time to let him get some rest," she said firmly. "Everyone out." The men began to get to their feet and she turned to Daemonar. "I'll have some food sent up in a minute. You're going to be fine, but you're going to have to take it easy for a few days, both physically and using Craft."

He opened his eyes as she gave him a pat on the shoulder and they all left. Daemonar loved his family, but sometimes it was nice to have a break from the huge crew. He relaxed into the soft pillows and blankets, wanting to reach out to Orian, but knowing that she was probably asleep and needed her rest after what she'd been through. Instead he turned inward, probing at the new depths of his psychic strength. He'd badly overtaxed himself in the fight, but descending into the abyss was more of a communion with Self than a use of Craft. He wanted to do something with his Ebon-gray, just to feel it as part of him, but he knew better than to antagonize his Healer right now. Instead he descended until he gently reached his inner web. It was so much deeper now. So much…darker. Solid. A powerful foundation to have. Ad suddenly he understood that it hadn't been an air platform he'd kicked off of in order to get out of the abyss, but his own web.

Daemonar quietly glided up and out of the abyss, opening his eyes as his door opened, and Orian walked in with a tray of food. His heart jumped seeing her shy smile as she kicked the door shut and put the tray on his bed, then sat down about mid-way down the bed so that she was facing him. They had sat like this plenty of time when one was sick. But this time they were silent, almost awkward with each other.

"Jaenelle said to make sure you drank the healing brew first," Orian finally said. Daemonar looked down at the tray. There was a cup of one of her brews, and a bowl of soup with some fresh bread and butter on the side. Now that he could smell food, his stomach started to rumble.

He bit into a piece of the bread. "I thought you'd be asleep."

She shrugged. "I…I haven't slept much the last few days."

Daemonar stopped eating and took a good look at her, seeing the dark smudges under her eyes and the way she wasn't looking at him. She was pulling back, as if bracing for a rejection. His heart started pounding. Uncle Daemon said she was fine, he thought. He would have told me if that bastard had…had…He couldn't even bring himself to say the word. But she wasn't broken. The Rose Jewel around her neck still gleamed with its stored power.

He vanished the tray and sat up straight, taking her hand. "Are you…" He had no idea how to finish that sentence.

"I'm sorry," she finally said in a whisper, her voice choked with tears. "I'm so sorry for what I cost you Daemonar. I refused an escort and you had to pay the price."

Hell's fire, Mother Night and may the Darkness be merciful, he thought, pulling her to him until she was cradled in his lap, tears running down her face. "Orian, please don't cry," he begged. "Who would have gone with you, your brother? He wears the Purple-Dusk and would have been killed in a second so that Lorivar could get to you." He touched her face so that it was tilted up to his. "And no Jewel, not even the Black, would have been worth losing you. I would have given up the Sapphire to get to you. Instead I have both the Sapphire and the Ebon-gray. I didn't lose anything because I still have you."

Orian's tears slowed and she tried a small, wobbly smile. "I love you," she whispered.

"That's good to know Lady, because I love you too," he said with a smile, and then leaned over to give her a long and very thorough kiss. It wasn't hungry like other kisses had been, but comforting, a promise of still being together, of still wanting each other.

But it still felt really, really good. So easy to get caught up in skin and taste, the sweet feel of her tongue stroking his, long dark hair spilling over them both…until Orian's hand ran down his side and a jolt of pain from Daemonar's abused ribs jerked Daemonar back to reality.

Orian felt him wince in pain and pulled back, cursing herself for forgetting that he'd been in healing webs for three days. She had walked away with minor injuries. Daemonar's had been life-threatening. "Maybe we should wait until you get clearance from you Healer?" she said with a shy smile.

Daemonar groaned. "First Dad, now Jaenelle?"

Orian sat up and looked at him primly. "All good things to those who wait." She stood up, mostly because if he started kissing her again, she wasn't going to have the will to stop again. "Now finish your meal and get some sleep."

Daemonar gave her a wicked grin. "I will if you promise to give me a sponge bath tomorrow."

Orian shot him a naughty look of her own. "If you don't, I'll have Darkguide give you one."

Daemonar laughed and she blew a kiss at him and walked out the door. There was a lot more they needed to talk about, but tonight wasn't the time. And for the first time in days, she thought she might be able to get a little sleep. She'd been so worried, first if he would survive, and then if he would hate her for how much power he'd lost by leaving the Offering early.

As she went to the guest room she'd been staying in and crawled into the large bed next to Darkguide she realized that she wouldn't have had to worry at all if she'd thought about the man he was. He'd been taught from the cradle that any sacrifice a Queen needed made was a Warlord Prince's privilege to make. And despite all that he'd went through, all that he'd lost, he still loved her, still wanted to be with her.

Mine, she thought, relaxing in the large bed with the sleeping cat by her side. Things had changed, but that was the one thing that had remained the same. She smiled, thinking back over the years. Yes, he belonged to her and she belonged to him. So many changes, but that was the one thing that had always remained the same.


	25. Epilogue

"Your will is my life. Take what you need."

Orian nodded and Daemonar slowly rose in front of her. His eyes raked over her body as he stood, finally locking onto her face with a decisively naughty smile. She felt the heat rush to her cheeks. Things had changed so much in the last few months, but Daemonar was still the little beast he'd always been. This time his look was hot instead of playful, but he was still being a tease anyway, making her think of later tonight rather than the Court she was forming at that moment.

Daemonar immediately stepped to her right, becoming part of Orian's triangle, and officially ending the formal creation of the Court. She'd filled her First Circles of females and males easily, starting with Donovan's wife and the village Queens that would answer to her and ending with Darkguide and Blackfoot, a kindred wolf Priestess who was descended from Tassel and wanted to keep an eye out on Daemonar. Her mate, Lord Oak, was also part of Orian's First Circle. The humans were a little uncomfortable with the kindred, but they were making an effort to include the kindred, and that was the first steps towards the kindred being accepted as equals in Little Terreille.

Orian smiled out onto the crowd gathered in front of the platform. Latten stood behind her after accepting the Steward's ring. Donovan stood to one side and Daemonar on the other, completing the triangle. The males of the First Circle stood to the right, and the Ladies to the left. Orian stepped in front and used both arms to gesture to the people that flanked her. "The Court is formed," she announced regally.

The crowd, consisting of most of Rolla, plus a good number of people from the other villages in the District began to cheer. The people in the aristo boxes stood as well, cheering and clapping. Orian knew some of it was from the celebrating that had begun two days ago when she arrived in town and Theresa formally stepped down as Queen so that Orian could take her place, and some of it was the genuine pleasure of having a new Queen. A strong Queen, she thought. So many people wanted a strong Queen to help protect them. A dark-Jeweled Queen that knew her Protocol and would live by it.

And she was now a dark-Jeweled Queen. She had made her Offering two weeks after the attack. She had planned to wait for a little while longer, but after the attack, she wanted the extra power and strength of an Offering Jewel. Nobody was going to argue with her over a matter of weeks, so she had made her Offering and come out of it with an uncut Opal Jewel. She'd been pleased to receive an Opal, but was too tired to realize what the others saw at once. It was a dark Opal. Blood could only descend three ranks, but the Opal could be light or dark. Normally, for a Rose-Jeweled Blood, if the Opal was received, it would be light. The High Lord had told her that she'd received a very, very rare gift. She'd asked how many times he'd seen it. He'd thought about it, and finally said he'd only known a small handful, maybe three or four people that it had happened to. As rare as the Black, she'd thought, touching her new Jewel. Now at her formal Court formation, that Opal Jewel hung around her neck in a pendant and sat on her finger in a ring that was a testament to all who were there that she was a dark-Jeweled Queen to be reckoned with.

And for all those who didn't see her as a problem, Daemonar may have lost a lot of his potential strength, but his Ebon-gray ring was a reminder of who he came from and the backing that this Court had. Some might dismiss her. But nobody would dismiss the power behind her.

But today wasn't the day for veiled threats or warnings. It was a day of celebration. There was a party at the Queen's mansion that night, and every notable Blood family in the District, aristo and plebian, had been invited. Invitations to other people had gone out all over Little Terreille, including the members of the Dark Council. Orian's other guests were already on their way, including Daemonar's family and Tersa and her family. Orian couldn't help a bigger grin at the thought of the Dark Council meeting Daemon Sadi face to face. She wondered how many people would recognize Tersa as the future Queen of Ebon Askavi. And if she was going to have to kick Kirian out of her District on the first night she began to rule.

Daemonar stepped forward and took her hand, raising her arm in triumph. "Lady Orian, Queen of Rolla!" he bellowed at the crowd using Craft so that everyone on the street could hear him. They immediately erupted into a louder roar of cheering for their young, vibrant queen. She'd already given her speeches to the town earlier when she'd accepted rule over the District, so he tucked her arm into his and escorted Orian off of the platform. The First Circle followed and they walked down the packed main road, accepted the well-wishes of the townspeople while flowers rained down from the rooftops and windows above.

Musicians formed a line in front of them and the line, followed by the townspeople turned into a joyful parade. The First Circle and Queen's guests would be allowed into the Queen's mansion while tents with food and drink were outside on one section of the grounds so that the people could continue their celebration. Inside, the court would rest for the afternoon and then enjoy a party that evening.

When everyone was in and the rest of the crowd being led away, Orian turned to her new court, pleased to see the beaming faces at her. She'd chosen her males carefully, only accepting the ones that belonged to her. The Dark Council wasn't happy that she'd refused so many of the males they had "suggested" she accept, but her First Circle belonged to her. Only one of the males they sent had been accepted into her First Circle, but several others would be placed in her Second and below Circles. That should be enough to placate the Dark Council, she thought, and if not, she would once more suggest the High Lord as her chief negotiator.

"Thank you all," Orian said to the assembled crowd. "I know it's been a long day. Please feel free to rest this afternoon. I will see you all at the party tonight."

Murmurs of "thank you Lady", and bows and curtseys as the formal lines broke up and the people began to mill about with each other. Servants discretely brought in refreshments for both the humans and kindred. Orian was pleased to see the humans making an effort to include the kindred into their conversations, and the kindred doing their best to be part of the human gathering. She smiled. There had been a lot of concern over a mixed court, but if this worked, maybe more kindred would be willing to call Little Terreille home, and more humans would welcome the kindred into their lands.

Before Orian could go and mingle with her court, Daemonar's arm tightened on hers and he moved them into the first empty room off the nearest hallway. She started to protest on why they were in a linen closet, but before she could say anything, he slapped an Ebon-gray lock on the door and pulled her into a sizzling kiss. Orian thought about protesting for a moment, but instead melted against him as phantom hands began teasing under her skirt. Daemonar had seen her through her Virgin Night, and it had been wonderful in its own way. Not like the love stories said, but still sweet and loving. Things had gotten better the more they were together, and she had to admit that Daemonar could be wonderfully creative when properly motivated. Like now when she could be wrapped up in his arms and still feeling him doing delightful things under her clothes.

"Daemonar," she gasped, trying to wiggle away while she still could. "We have guests. Someone could hear..." her words trailed off as a phantom mouth began playing with her as well as the hands.

"That's what aural shields are for," Daemonar replied and resumed kissing her neck. He was trying to fight back a grin. He'd asked Uncle Daemon how he could be better in bed, and Daemon taught him how to create and use a phantom touch. Orian hadn't specifically said anything, but her response had made it clear she liked his new skill.

Orian pushed against his chest to get some leverage. "Open the door, Prince," she said firmly, if not a little breathlessly.

Daemonar reluctantly let her go and opened the door. She stepped out into the hall and glanced over her shoulder at him, a playful grin that he remembered from so many childhood games on her lips. "Race you to the bedroom," she said, and vanishing her high-heeled shoes, took off at a dead run. Daemonar stood there for a moment, and then chased after her, laughing as they ran through the halls into the Queen's suite. She had shut the door, but he passed through it easily, catching her in the sitting room as they tumbled onto a couch. Both were still laughing, still out of breath, still kissing and touching until Daemonar scooped Orian up and carried her into the bedroom, lightly tossing her onto the bed and then falling in beside her.

Orian reached up, wrapping her arms around Daemonar's neck. "I thought we were going to rest after the ceremony," she said teasingly.

He grinned, his hand running over her body. "We will. Just need to get worn out first."

She laughed and Daemonar marveled again that she was his. He had never thought about life without her, and now that they were formally together, he couldn't imagine ever living without her again. Mine, he thought, making things inside him tighten with desire. He leaned over and kissed her with all of the passion and desire he felt for her, wanting to brand her with his claim, and even more importantly, let her know that she had a forever claim on him as well. Still best friends, although the days of shoving mud down shirts or yanking down pants were now over, but more now.

Friends.

Lovers.

Queen and Consort.

For two people who had known each other forever, it didn't take much to move from one to the next. Sometimes only the smallest push was needed in order to see someone in a brand new light. And as Daemonar wrapped himself around Orian, he knew that sometimes, the smallest changes were the sweetest.

THE END

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Well, hello there! Told you the story would end eventually. Well, the story is over, but the tale isn't. There are a few more stories for this version of the BJT that I'd like to tell, but we'll see how that goes.

I would like to say thank you to everyone who read and enjoyed the story. I had originally thought it to be about 10 chapters or so long. But the more I like characters the more I want to see what they're going to do and stories tend to start getting long. And since I have a life in the real world, sometimes the long stories can take a while to get written. But I appreciate everyone who has hung on with me and enjoyed reading. A big Thank You to everyone who has reviewed. It really gives me the encouragement to keep writing when I hear that people are enjoying the story.

It's funny. Writing this started as something to do to keep myself from counting the hours to the next Lortab after I had surgery because I was in a lot of pain and writing helped to distract me. But I really got caught up in the world I was building on AB's marvelous framework. I've been thinking a lot about some original story ideas that I've had and maybe it's time to pull those files out of my archives and see where those roads will lead.

But in the meantime, I'm going to take a few weeks off and then my next story here is going to jump back in time to about two years after the Great Purge (we're going to get to see Daemonar and Orian again, but they'll just barely be coming out of toddler stage) and center on Karla. Hope to see you guys there!

---Cat


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